


Twin Souls

by BlackCrow1886, PhoenixFeatherLove



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 2CT, Abuse, Aftercare, British Peerage System, Child Abuse, Cults, Dogs, Earldom, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fire, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Inhuman Treatment, Inspired by Music, Kidnapping, M/M, Music Guide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Phantomhive Twins - Freeform, Playlist, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Satantic Elements, Servantry, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Song Guide, Song Lyrics, Torture, Trauma, Triggers, Twin Theory, Two Ciels Theory, Underage Rape/Non-con, Victorian era, Whipping, demon contracts, heirarchy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 92,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCrow1886/pseuds/BlackCrow1886, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFeatherLove/pseuds/PhoenixFeatherLove
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive as we know him might not actually be Ciel Phantomhive. Based on the Two Ciels Theory, identical twins Ciel and Cyril are sons of the Watchdog and Earl of Phantomhive. Their lives are forever changed when their manor burns to the ground and they are taken to a demon-worshiping cult. Forced to endure inhumane treatment, salvation appears in the form of a demon butler. But after being pushed to the edge of madness, will the young boys be able to keep each other alive, or will the pain of their trauma drag them to the depths of despair?Co-written by PhoenixFeatherLove! She was originally my rp partner and we created this fic based on our ramblings to each other. She introduced me to the twin theory and has been a big help in developing this story. Check her out!





	1. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • The Happy Birthday Song - Andrew Bird  
> • Winter - Tori Amos  
> • Home (Vocal Cover // Undertale) - Adriana Figueroa feat. FamilyJules7x  
> • In My Arms - Plumb

Ciel fiddled with the deep blue ring that sat still somewhat loosely on his left thumb.

 _Daddy's ring is too big..._ he thought to himself as he twisted it smoothly over the digit, taking it off and sliding it over the finger it was meant to rest on. He watched it hang there, the gap between the silver and his skin big enough for him to fit his smallest finger in alongside it.

It was cold outside, the windows fogged from the heat emanating from inside the house hitting the cold glass. It was always snowing on their birthday, which was good and bad. It meant snowballs and hot chocolate by the fire. It meant Sebastian running inside with snowflakes stuck to his fur and his long dark eyelashes as he ran in circles around them before settling at their feet before the fire and sleeping. But it also meant brother couldn't play as much, and he'd get sicker easier. Winter meant a lot of time in their bedroom, the sound of coughs filling the night, mixing with the sounds of either rain or snow. The cold made brother cough, it made his lungs hurt when he breathed, which meant he couldn't play. And Ciel loved playing with his little brother. But he always knew one thing, he'd always be well on their birthday. Aunt Angelina was a doctor and always helped to make sure brother could get out of bed and play for a little while and eat dinner with mummy and daddy before they opened presents and went to bed, wrapped in warm clothes and cuddling until morning.

Today was supposed to be like that, but father had pulled him aside during breakfast and given him the ring from his finger, telling him it always belonged to the head of the family, the person who would help take care of the country and the queen's worries. It would be his now. Ciel walked with those words in the pit of his stomach all day.

To his right, Cyril tucked into his eggs at the breakfast table enthusiastically, feeling much better today. Their father sat at the head of the table, reading the morning paper, and their mother beamed at her twin boys from his left. Today was a special day and everyone knew it. This day marked one decade to the boys' names and it would be full of joy, sweets, and presents. But before the meal, Vincent Phantomhive pulled his oldest son aside and told him he needed to speak with him. Cyril had seen their father do this before, but something seemed different this time. What did he need to tell his older brother and his older brother only? Cyril felt a familiar stab of jealousy as he watched Ciel hop down from his chair and follow Father to the lounge just off of the dining hall. He tried to swallow it down...of course Ciel would tell him what their father had said later, but it still bothered him.

Cyril's change in expression was not lost on Rachel. She leaned forward, "I'm so glad to see you doing better today, honey. You're going to have an amazing birthday."

Cyril managed a small smile despite himself. He would get to play with Sebastian and his brother today, and that was reason enough to celebrate. After the talk, both father and son had returned to the dining hall and sat back in their chairs to finish the last few scraps of the meal. Only a few minutes had passed in their absence, mostly filled with silence until Rachel had spoken. Cyril had seen his twin return to the table with a serious expression on his face, fiddling with something on his left hand. While Vincent folded his newspaper to set it to the side of his plate and Ciel finished the last few bites of fruit on his own, one of the many servants the Phantomhive family employed was let into the hall and bowed politely to the family before Vincent nodded once, letting him know it was alright to say what he had come to say. Walking behind the earl, the servant bent forward at the waist to whisper something to him. The man of the house nodded and jerked his head toward the door once, a silent allowance for the servant to leave, his expression remaining staunch. Once the servant had left, the eldest of the two children spoke up.

"What is it, father?" His voice held the air of innocence it always did when he didn't understand a situation, and the slightest hint of worry. Children were always more perceptive than their parents assumed, and the Phantomhive twins were no exception. The older especially felt the answer his father gave had nothing to do with the news he'd just been told.

"Your cousins are to visit today for your birthday, as well as both your aunts." He was sure the thought of seeing Elizabeth would cheer his eldest son and distract his curious mind from snooping further, but Ciel was smart and knew not to push it. He nodded with a smile and raised the fork to his mouth for his last bite with his left hand, where the blue ring now sat. Both brothers noticed the slight change in their father's expression. Cyril said nothing, and then became distracted by the dark blue ring upon his brother's thumb, the ring that daddy usually wore. He knew the ring was important to the family but wasn't sure what it meant now that his brother was wearing it. Cyril absentmindedly moved his fork along his plate, hoping that his brother would explain it to him later.

When servants cleared away the plates and the two parents stood, the twins followed suit. Vincent looked to the head of staff, always standing by in wait for commands. "Tanaka, could you help the boys get into some warmer clothes? I think a walk outside would do us good as we wait for Frances and the children." He paused, straightening his cravat before turning back to the older man, speaking quietly. "Mind Cyril, he's still getting over his recent fit. He's so fragile..."

Meanwhile the older of the two was still fiddling with the jewelry that now adorned him, long eyelashes downcast. Tanaka took them up to their shared bedroom, helping the twin 10-year olds into warm under clothes and soft sweaters. Cyril felt a swoop of excitement at the prospect of playing in the snow. It had been so long since he had been able to. Tanaka put their winter coats on them, soft and warm with fur trim, and wrapped a blue fleece scarf around Cyril's head, thoroughly covering half of his face. Then placing wool hats on their dark blue heads, Ciel could now barely make out his twin's face, except for his eyes. The sight made him giggle. Cyril sent his twin a glare, which only made him laugh harder. Cyril then quickly moved forward, reached up and pulled Ciel's hat down over his eyes. The boys began to push and shove and Tanaka had to come between them.

"Save it for outside, you two," he said, chuckling softly. The boys stopped fighting as they straightened their winter clothes. Cyril made a mental note to get his brother good with a snowball at the first opportunity. Ciel still chuckled as they rushed to the best of their abilities downstairs. It wasn't because Cyril had to wear so many extra clothes that the older had laughed, he knew he had to dress more warmly so he wouldn't get sick. It was that just at that moment, he'd had a funny thought. If their scarves hadn't have been different colors, Cyril's being light blue and his being red, with their faces half showing nobody would've been able to tell them apart, not even mother who said she always could.

When they got to the front doors, Vincent was walking with Rachel into the entrance, both wearing their coats and scarves as well, and Rachel with her hands folded in a white fur muff in front of her. Vincent told a servant to make sure the fireplace in the twins' room and the sitting lounge were both kept going so the room would be warm for later in the evening when every one arrived. Cyril covered his eyes with his gloved hands when the front doors opened to the winter wonderland. It was even brighter than he had thought. As his eyes began to adjust to the bright white environment, he took in all the details of the front of the estate. It seemed to go on forever and it was all covered with freshly fallen snow.

He looked up and soft snowflakes fell from the grey sky. A few of them landed on Cyril's long eyelashes and he giggled. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably so. He caught some snowflakes on his blue gloves and brought them up to his barely visible eyes, gazing at the frozen crystals closely. There was so much detail if one looked hard enough.

Vincent and Rachel followed the boys outside and Rachel came close to Cyril to see what he was looking at. She smiled and bent down close to his ear. "You know, there are no two snowflakes that are exactly the same."

"Really? But there are so many!"

"Every single one is different. All the crystals form in infinite combinations, each snowflake unique in its own beautiful way."

Cyril was catching more snowflakes on his gloves, looking at how different they all were. Vincent came up on Cyril's other side.

"It's the same with people. Even identical twins have differences, particularly in interests and personalities." Vincent looked at Rachel and they shared a smile as Cyril looked up from his hand and noticed Ciel had already gone down the outdoor stairs. He raced down them, faster than his parents liked, almost slipping on the bottom step. He caught himself just in time by putting his hands out and touching the snowy ground. Then, his hands having met the snow, he pushed a bunch of it together and straightened up, compacting the snow together and making a snowball. Ciel was still fiddling with the ring, making sure it stayed secure under his glove so it wouldn't fall out and be lost in the snow until spring. His boots sunk into the snow, but they were warm and thick and he barely felt the nip of the cold except against his cheeks which turned bright pink almost immediately. He didn't look up until he felt a chunk of soft snow hit just above his bottom. He gasped and spun around to see his twin laughing.

A mischievous grin broke across his face which he'd previously tried to make remain angry and he bent to pick up snow from the ground for himself. He compacted it as well as he could through his gloves and threw the tiny ball towards his brother, making sure not to hit him in face, aiming lower for arms or legs. It didn't matter that the sky was grey, they were surrounded by all this beautiful white and bright happiness. This is all he could ever want.

After several minutes of an epic snowball fight between the two boys, Cyril laid down on a soft patch of snow and moved his arms and legs back and forth, making a snow angel. Ciel soon joined him and made his own angel right next to his brother's. They stood up and gazed at their handiwork. Then, feeling that his brother's angel needed something, Cyril went over to Ciel's and drew a halo in the snow with his finger. Ciel gave him a quizzical look.

"Because you're always taking care of me and protecting me," said Cyril.

Ciel looked at his little brother with a wide smile and hugged him so hard they toppled into the snow next to their angels. Ciel sat up and proclaimed, "You need one too!" He rushed through the snow, tripping over his own feet once and going to the top of his brother's angel, drawing it its own halo, a little lower than Ciel's since he was younger and smaller. "Because we have to look the same. Plus, you're really nice to everyone, and you get sick a lot, but you're always happy."

Cyril gave a wide, slightly sheepish grin, his cheeks rosy against the whiteness of the snow around them. "I try to be...I'm really happy I get to play outside today."

"Me too, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"So...um...what did Daddy want? After breakfast..."

Ciel's happy mood melted back into one of worry and he looked down at his glove, where he could see the outline of the precious stone through the fabric and traced it with a finger. "He gave me his special ring...and told me what it means. It always belongs to the person in charge of the family, the oldest. But...doesn't that mean daddy should still wear it?" Ciel looked up at his twin with a worried look of utter confusion. He didn't know what this all meant, or why it was time for him to have it. So of course he'd try to figure it out with his brother.

Cyril saw the worry and confusion in his brother's eyes. He wanted to cheer him up but he didn't know what giving the family ring to Ciel meant either. Surely his brother wasn't about to become the head of the house already? "Maybe he just wanted to give it to you early...as a symbol or something...to prepare you." Cyril wasn't sure his words were making any sense but it was all he could muster. When Ciel's worried expression didn't change, Cyril placed an arm around his twin's shoulders and smiled. "Don't worry. When you do become the head of the house, I'll help you. You won't have to do everything yourself."

Ciel laughed a little bit, leaning his head against his twin's. "Yeah...we'll always be together, won't we?" He said, more like a statement instead of a question. And he really believed it.

After running around for another twenty minutes or so, Rachel's cough began to come back in small spells, and she began to worry about what the cold could be doing to her youngest. They were called back into the house to warm up by the fire with hot drinks. The twins sat together on the couch by the fire in the lounge, bundled up in warm blankets, each holding a cup of hot chocolate. By the window stood one of many Christmas trees that had been placed throughout the house, the largest one in the entrance hall. The twins had watched the servants decorating them over the past week. The entire manor had been transformed to reflect Christmastime. A large Advent calendar with small boxes containing gifts for each day in December stood in the corner. Cyril felt his insides warming as he sipped his hot chocolate. The day was going well and he had so many reasons to be happy. However, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread and he wasn't sure why. Was it because of the ring their father had given Ciel? Father had done many strange things in the past that didn't seem to make sense, but the boys had always explained them in their minds as 'adult things' or 'Watchdog stuff', things that would eventually make sense to them when they got older. And for the most part, that had been true. But this felt...different....

Cyril tried to tear his mind away from the ring and focus on his birthday. Lizzy and the others would arrive soon and then there would be party games. Aunt Angelina would be so happy to see him doing well. With that positive thought, he continued to sip his hot cocoa. Ciel pulled the blankets closer around him and over his head like a hood to hide his warm cheeks from the hot fire and sipped at the drink in the mug he held, warming the pinched pink skin of his fingers. The ring clanked against the ceramic every time he moved his hand, making it very hard to forget about it. He tried to keep his hand as still as possible, which was getting easier as the shivering died down. He sat pressed against his twin in silence as they both waited anxiously for the sound of horses braying or their aunt's loud voice as she arrived into the main entry hall, a little ways away from the drawing room where they were sitting before the hearth.

A new voice had been added more frequently into their play time. Their cousin Lizzy would come and play with them more and more now that it had been explained what her and Ciel's engagement meant in more detail. When Ciel was older and became the Watchdog after Father, he would marry Lizzy like Rachel had married Vincent, and she would be the Countess of Phantomhive. Until they had children, her brother Edward would be named next in line, and then Cyril. It had been a confusing lesson to follow, with many words they didn't quite know, but they had it memorized nonetheless.

Ciel loved Lizzy, and mummy said he was supposed to, but he felt like it was in a different way from how mummy loved daddy. Cyril didn't know what to think about Lizzy and his brother's engagement. She was their cousin, but of course, 'nobles marry other nobles'...and as the eldest son, it was more important for Ciel to be married than his younger brother. High society seemed to be nothing but titles, arranged marriages, and flaunting money. Was that the way it was supposed to be? It also didn't seem right to Cyril that Lizzy's brother Edward would inherit the Phantomhive estate before he would, but he told himself there was no point in being resentful about that. Who would have thought that being born just a few minutes after his twin would have such a major impact on his life?

Cyril wondered if their parents would find a girl for him to marry, or if he would have to find one on his own. _Would anyone **want** to marry me? Maybe if Aunt Ann ever has a daughter, I can marry her..._  

Ciel watched his twin a moment before a high pitched voice ringing through the front hall caught their attention. They got up immediately and ran out to where their cousins were waiting. The rest of the day was filled with playing games and presents. Aunt Ann would be late because of a patient she had to tend to and would be over later in the night. After the twins' bellies were full of cake and all their gifts for the night were opened, their parents told them to go play before bedtime while they saw the Midfords off.

"Let's play hide and seek!" Ciel suggested. "The mansions big, and if it takes a long time to find one another, maybe mummy and daddy will let us stay up until Aunty gets here." He beamed at what he considered his clever idea.

"Perfect!" Cyril agreed, as they stood in the drawing room. "I'll be 'It' and you go hide. I'll count tooooo...50!" Cyril went to the corner of the drawing room and covered his eyes as he began to count. Fifty wasn't a long time to find a hiding spot but Ciel knew the manor very well and knew a lot of places to hide. There was a room where father played billiards with guests and businessmen when they visited. In that room was a cupboard where the cues and balls were kept and he was small enough to fit inside. He rushed there as fast as he could and crawled inside, tucking his knees to his chest. The sun had set on Phantomhive manor. When Cyril had finished counting.

He uncovered his eyes and took in the drawing room. He quickly checked the room's various cupboards and under tables, though he was pretty certain that Ciel had left the room. Cyril entered the hallway and set off at a light jog, careful not to run too fast and trigger his asthma. He went through the lounge, the library, and a few of the bedrooms, but didn't find his brother. He closed his eyes and tried to picture where his brother might be. Cyril saw in his mind a few images; a cramped space, knees drawn up...a small door, slightly ajar. He opened his eyes. _A closet, perhaps? Maybe a cupboard. Well, that narrows it down a bit, but I still don't know which room._ Cyril kept going, heading towards the second floor.

Ciel closed his eyes shut tight on instinct, almost thinking of the superstition that if he couldn't see Cyril, Cyril couldn't see him. But he knew that didn't work. Somehow if Cyril found him he wouldn't magically become invisible to his eyes, but if Ciel closed his eyes, he knew Cyril wouldn't be able to see where he was in that way. He hugged his knees closer, giggling to himself.

Cyril entered the second floor hallway and began checking the bedrooms for his brother. No sign of him. He continued down the hallway, rounding a corner, coming to the billiards room which was one of their favorite rooms, due to all of the games it held. Ciel, hiding in one of the cupboards, saw his twin through the slightly open door and leaned back as far as he could into the darkness of the cramped space, trying not to giggle.

Cyril was looking under the pool table when he heard Sebastian's sudden, frantic barking down the hall...


	2. In Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Guide:
> 
> • I See Fire - Ed Sheeran (Paragon Axis Remix)  
> • Bottom of the River - Delta Rae

"Sebastian?" Cyril called the dog. He hadn't seen Sebastian in several hours and wondered if he was with mother and father. 

Cyril went back into the hallway and followed the sound of his dog's barking. As he got closer to the sound, he noticed that Sebastian's barks were much more aggressive than usual. He was getting slightly short of breath, jogging at a steady pace down the long hallway, upsetting his asthma. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, placing his hands on his knees and attempting to catch his breath. Sebastian was still barking and growling and Cyril heard some indistinct yelling. Suddenly, a loud bang rang out, muffled only by the three or four rooms that now separated Cyril and the source of the noise. Sebastian's barks went silent.

Cyril gasped and straightened up. "Se-Sebastian?" He called again.

The boy began to run in the direction of the sound. Two more bangs sounded, louder this time as the boy got closer. Cyril's heart began to pound rapidly. He ran, opening doors and checking rooms as he went until finally he found what he had been looking for. The room was very dark, illuminated only by the light streaming in from the hallway.  Not too far from where he stood, he saw Sebastian lying on the floor and facing away from him.  When he didn't get up to greet him like he usually did, Cyril stepped deeper into the dark room.

"Sebastian?"

He reached out, placing his tiny hands on the dog's soft, black fur, and felt a sticky wetness.  He withdrew his hands quickly and saw that they were covered in blood. Cyril gasped and took a few steps back.  Then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he looked past Sebastian and saw a huddled mass of two figures lying face down, one with long blonde hair, the other with short bluish-black hair, like his own. Father's arm was wrapped around Mother. Cyril stared at the scene in horror. Immediately, he turned and ran out of the room as fast as he could, tearing back down the hallway.

"HELP!" he screamed. "Somebody help! Anyone!"

Every breath and every step Cyril took sent a stabbing pain into his chest to join the tight constriction that had gripped his heart and lungs at the sight of his parents lying dead in that room. He almost didn't believe that what he had seen was real. _This can't be happening...I just saw them an hour ago...this can't be real..._

As Cyril neared the end of the hallway, Tanaka appeared from around the corner, walking backwards, seemingly fending off some unknown assailant.

"Tanaka!"

The old man turned to see Cyril running towards him with a horrified look on his face.  His eyes widened in fear. "Young master, run!" He raised a hand to shoo the boy away desperately before turning back to the dark figure that stepped toward him. Cyril didn't even have time to see the man's face before turning and running.

Suddenly, his lungs burning fiercely, he stopped. He had to or he'd collapse and his breathing would become too labored to keep up.  He had never seen grandpa Tanaka look so terrified.  Before he could even register what was happening, the boy felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and crumpled to the floor.

* * *

"C'mere you little brat," a voice said. Rough hands grabbed him off the floor and carried him unceremoniously under one arm as the figure began to run through the house from the way Cyril came, looking for anything valuable he could take before the blaze they'd started got too big to get out of. Searching through every other room, the assailant finally came to the room with the billiards table and began rummaging through everything. Nobles could've kept their valuables anywhere.

Ciel, at this point, knew something was wrong. It had been a long time since Cyril came into this room looking for him. There had been shouting, the back of his head was aching as though he had bumped it on something, and now there was someone in the room, but he didn't think it was Cyril or any of the servants. He sounded angry when he mumbled to himself, and banged things around as he went. The boy held his breath, hoping the stranger wouldn't find him, but let out a yelp of fear as the doors of his cupboard were ripped open. He brought his hands to his head to cover himself as the figure began to speak.

"Well, well. Looks like I found the grand prize." He reached down and grabbed Ciel by the hair and dragged him out of the cupboard, the boy stumbling as he realized his twin was nestled under the man's arm. He reached up to pull at the man's fingers, trying to untangle them from the blue locks. "Let go of me!" He demanded.

"Shut up!" His hair was yanked roughly backwards so the man could inspect his face, eyes darting back and forth between his and Cyril's. "Perfect. You two are going to be grabbed up nice and quick."

Ciel was continuously pulled from room to room by his hair, which he struggled against and screamed for help. He kept kicking and pulling until he finally broke free of the man's grasp. He had to run, but the man had his brother. He ran behind the man and grabbed Cyril's limp hanging hand and pulled on it. "Wake up!" He screamed at him. "Wake up, wake up! We have to find father, or Tanaka. Wake up, Cyril, run!"

"Hey!" The man yelled across the hall where another two of the other intruders were running through. The blaze was starting to spread more rapidly now. "Grab the kid, he's worth big!"

Ciel turned around and saw the two men. He started to run in the opposite direction, but they were too fast, catching up to him quickly with longer strides than his own. One of them kicked his back so he fell face down on the floor and they both grabbed either of his arms to follow the other man who had Cyril out of the building.

When they got downstairs, Ciel saw part of the house in flames. The Christmas tree toppled over, blackened, all the glass ornaments shattering on the ground. He screamed for his parents, for the servants, for Cyril to wake up. They were taken outside into the cold in nothing but the matching birthday outfits Nina had made for them. Ciel looked back and half the manor was on fire, the entire side that housed their bedroom, fire breaking out through the window he knew to be his and Cyril's. While he was looking behind them he didn't notice the men carrying them toward a work carriage and throwing them inside, the doors shutting tightly and loudly behind them while the men shouted at each other outside to hurry up.

Ciel gasped as they were plunged into darkness, and felt on his hands and knees around the carriage for his twin, whispering his name urgently. He finally found him and pulled him close, half in his lap. He shook him gently, his voice choking up. "Cyril...wake up." He said, almost sounding hopeless. He was scared, shock wearing off and the adrenalin he used to try and escape almost gone. "Please..." He said in a quiet voice. "Wake. Up!"

Awareness steadily came back to Cyril. He vaguely sensed that someone was holding him. He slowly opened his eyes and all was nearly pitch black, save for a faint orange light streaming in around the cracks in the doors of the carriage. Through the smell of burning wood and smoke around him, he caught the familiar and welcome scent of his brother, and realized it was he who held him.

"Ciel? Wh-where are we?"

"We're in a carriage, I don't know where we're going." He said quickly, almost frantically as he held his brother to him. He was supposed to be strong, mummy told him, he had to take care of his little brother. He looked back toward where the orange light was coming from and sniffed his tears back once, eyes watering even more from the smell of smoke. With one hand under Cyril's back, helping him as best he could to sit up against his chest, he found his twin's hand in the darkness and held it tightly, comforting himself as well as his twin. He didn't want to be alone in the dark, and he had to protect Cyril. "Everything will be okay...mother and father, Tanaka...they'll come looking for us." He said this with a small hopeful smile, nodding to himself, trying to convince both of them.

At Ciel's words, it was as though someone had kicked Cyril in the stomach. The images of that bloody scene in the parlor, with their dog, their mother and father lying dead, played across his mind in full force, and for a moment he could hardly breathe.  _They could still be alive_ , he thought. _Maybe they were just injured._ He wanted desperately to believe his own thoughts. His mind grasped onto the tiniest possibility that their family still lived, but the incontrovertible truth pressed down on him like a physical weight. Whoever these intruders were, they had come intending to kill and they had succeeded. _No..._

Cyril tightened his grasp on his brother's hand. Their parents were gone, and no one knew where they were being taken. Tears filled his eyes and his breathing became labored. He laid his throbbing head back against Ciel's chest. He didn't want to tell brother, but he had to. He needed to know.

"Brother..." he began in a weak voice. "Mother and father are...."

He couldn't finish. He simply broke down. Turning on his side, he clutched his brother's shirt with his free hand and sobbed into his chest, shaking.

Ciel watched as his brother began to cry and he automatically wrapped his arms around him, one hand in his hair like he saw mother do to them a lot. He held him while the words sunk in. It took several minutes, filled with the sound of his younger twin crying, for him to realize it. Mother and father, they were dead. They weren't coming to save them. They'd never see them again. Their manor, their dog, the servants. All of that was gone and they were on their way God knows where to do God knows what. He did not sob, but it felt as though a brick was sitting in his lungs and silent tears rolled down his face and into his brother's hair and down his own clothes and neck. The thing that snapped him out of his almost lifeless state was the sound of Cyril's rough coughing. He sat the smaller, asthmatic boy up further against his chest so his head was against his shoulder.

"Brother...take deep breaths, like mummy used to say. Don't make yourself sick...we don't have Aunt Ann, or anyone to take care of us now." His thoughts had already turned hopeless, sour, independent. He had to become the parent now, the adult, the one in charge of decisions that could decide their future and what happened to them. He had to keep his twin safe, no matter what. 

He looked down at the ring on his left thumb. Had father known? If everyone was really dead, he was the head of the family now. It was his job to take care of the family now, which was really just...him and Cyril. So he had to do that, he'd promised father. He rubbed his brother's chest to help his breathing like Tanaka had shown him once and rested his cheek against Cyril's hair. The road was bumpy, and he couldn't see where they were going, but he hoped they slept before they got there.

And despite his grief, Cyril did as his brother told him and focused on taking deep breaths. Gradually, his breathing evened out and he leaned limply against Ciel's shoulder, staring blankly into space, comforted only by his brother's presence and gentle touch. Even after all this, they still had each other, and Cyril latched onto that fact. He tried not to think about the possibility of them being separated. He held onto Ciel even tighter, vowing to never let him go.

The carriage rattled on to some unknown destination.  The boys eventually laid down on the floor of their moving prison and held each other close. It was freezing and their body heat was the only source of warmth. What were they going to do? Where were they going? Why had these people done this to them? What was going to happen to them now? The same questions kept crossing their minds as the hours dragged on. Eventually, their exhaustion carried them off to sleep. So they slept, for a long time, as though subconsciously trying to shield themselves from their now dark and fearful situation.

It was late into the next afternoon when Cyril was to be woken by shouting...


	3. On Display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Listen to the Rain - Evanescence

Light poured into the once dark carriage from the now open doors, the men shouting at them to wake up. Ciel was grabbed by the wrists and hair by two men and dragged out, another two men following suit with Cyril. Once his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he struggled and looked at their new surroundings. Maybe he'd recognize where they were, hopefully see someone, anyone they knew or had met with mother and father, he could call for help.

They looked to be in some sort of strange city square where rickety old stands were set up, made of wood, some of them rotting. Some of them advertised jewelry, others sold what looked like off pieces of meat. Ciel cringed as he saw a heart, an infant's head. There were cages with rabid barking dogs, rare colorful birds. What was this place? Surely hell, or some awful equivalent.

And then they came to a small tent, old and tattered, barely held up. It was dark inside, lit only by the sun pouring through the holes in the fabric and a few oil lamps. Still struggling, he looked behind them to make sure Cyril was still with him, and he was. Ciel didn't know whether to be happy about that or worried. The tent was not large or small, and it was lined with cages on either side. Ciel couldn't tell what was in them, his eyes still adjusting from the dark to the light and now the dark again. He was thrown to the ground, which was the cobblestone street from outside covered in thin carpets to feign indoor living. His knees scraped against the rough, straw-like material and burned afterwards. His twin was thrown down next to him. The men stood over them and started to undress Cyril first.

Ciel wanted to reach out, to help, to tell them to stop, but he was paralyzed. They took his clothes, discussing if the buttons on his coat were brass or gold, and whether or not they could be sold. The velvet surely could. Ciel looked down at himself in his similar clothing. They'd take everything from him. _Father's ring.._. In a panic he took it off his finger and put it in his mouth, intent on hiding it there. When Cyril was half undressed, two men moved on to him. Practically ripping the clothes from his body, and even taking the shoes off his feet, they left him completely naked on the floor. He tried to hug himself, to hide himself, but the men grabbed his arms and held them open, even grabbing his knees and doing the same. He was terrified.

"Looks healthy, not so much the little one...but twins? They'll easily be worth more than two children."

"Than three," one agreed, reaching to take a hold of his bare hip. The look on his face was akin to that of a certain type of hunger. Ciel vaguely heard the other men talking about silver or gold teeth fillings and saw them looking into Cyril's mouth from the corner of his eye.

"Someone is going to love you," and the man's hand came down sharply on his bare buttock. He wanted to squeal in pain but couldn't with the ring in his mouth. They'd look there anyway, so he tried thickly to swallow it and finally succeeded. It would be safe for a while now. With his mouth empty he jerked his head away from a hand intent on searching him and shouted, "Don't touch us!" This earned him a blow to the cheek.

"Rotten brat!" A man shouted. "I should teach you a lesson, see if you're even fit to be sold," The hands were back on his knees, opening them. "Maybe we'll have a look down below..."

"Oi! No damaging the goods!" Another man shouted. "You try 'im, you buy 'im. Virgins sell for more and you couldn't afford the price on 'im anyway."

The man touching Ciel growled in frustration and shoved him away. Ciel reached for Cyril's hand once all the men backed away. Clothes were thrown to the floor at their feet, just a loose hanging white shirt and a pair of rough brown shorts for each of them.

"Get dressed, boys," Another one of the men said. "You'll be on display soon..."

The boys looked at each other, wondering what exactly the man meant by 'on display'. Ciel helped Cyril into the worn shirt and shorts and then dressed himself in the same. He didn't want those men staring at his brother's body any more than they already had...

Cyril looked around at the cages in the tent. They all contained one or more children in them. Some were looking out through the bars at the new arrivals, some sleeping, a few withdrawn in dark corners. The twins had never seen children in cages before. Where were their parents? Had they been murdered as well? From the talk of their captors, it seemed that they intended to sell them, like Daddy had sold toys for Funtom. The boys had never known that people could be sold as well, and that there were other people who would buy them.

Now, the boys weren't stupid. They could tell that nothing good could come from this. The clothes were rougher against their skin than the clothes they'd come in, with no undergarments and only a drawstring to tighten the shorts and make sure they didn't fall down. Ciel hugged his arms around his brother to try and help him keep warm, as it was still cold outside. The men who had brought them there were dressed warmly, and exchanging money with the man who seemed to own the stand, leaving soon afterwards.

The men who remained approached them, and grabbed them each by the arms, separating them momentarily. They were forcibly dragged toward a cage in the front of the tent where they'd be the main showcase. The sound of keys jangling had Ciel looking away from his brother and back toward the owner as he unlocked the cage door after removing the blanket that had been over it. Cold steel, no blankets inside, no nothing. Just cold, unforgiving metal. The twins were thrown inside, the cold air from the flap of the tent travelling toward them. The door was slammed shut and locked behind them.

The cage wasn't tall enough for them to stand, or even sit comfortably, and it was so, so very cold. They huddled on the ground, Ciel surrounding his younger twin, trying to warm them both up before the blanket was thrown over the cage and they were plunged into darkness yet again. The blanket provided only a minor amount of shelter from the cold draft outside. The boys laid on the floor of the cage in darkness and held each other close for warmth.

"Are you alright, Cyril?" Ciel whispered. They shivered.

"I'm scared, brother." Cyril's eyes were wide with fear, catching the dim light within the cage, his teeth chattering.

"Me too," Ciel said, pulling his brother closer. "It'll be okay..."

The boys were seen by various customers throughout the afternoon and into the evening. They all ogled them, marveled at their novelty, then scoffed at the asking price. The man who seemed to be the owner of the tent occasionally poked them with a large walking stick through the bars, either trying to get them to move or behave. He would hit them in the head or back anytime he caught them talking, or even suspected they had been conversing.

What customers seemed to like the most about them was their youth, their family name, their virginity, and the fact that they were rare twins. A few commented on their soft skin after stroking Ciel's cheek through the bars. At one point, one of the customers grabbed Cyril by the shirt, pulled him right up against the bars of the cage, and held him tightly by the cheeks, examining his teeth. Ciel had yelled at him, trying to pull his grubby hands off of his brother. That had earned him a sharp jab to the ribs with the stick, making him crumple to the ground clutching his side. The customer did not like Cyril's sickly appearance and only wanted Ciel, along with a correspondingly lower price. The hearts of both boys sank at just the thought of being separated, and Ciel wrapped his arms around his brother protectively, defiantly staring at the man who dared try to take him away. The man with the stick narrowed his eyes at Ciel and then the customer, and at last said that he wouldn't be selling them separately, as they were more valuable together. The customer left in a huff.

The sun had set, which made the tent the twins were in even colder. Their stomachs ached with hunger and they began to grow weak. They hadn't been given food or water in nearly two days. A while later, another customer came to look at them and the boys were too weak to sit up at all to be shown off. This seemed to tip Stick Man off that they needed nourishment. When the customer left, the man went away temporarily and returned with some day-old bread and a wooden bowl of water, not unlike a dog bowl, which he then placed inside the cage through the bars. Ciel was the first to notice as Cyril had momentarily fallen asleep on the ground next to him, his head in his lap. He shook his brother gently.

"Brother, wake up!"

Cyril slowly opened his eyes. He couldn't see the bread in the darkness but he could smell it. Ciel broke off small pieces of the stale bread and held it gently against Cyril's lips. Cyril parted his lips to each one and chewed the bread slowly. His stomach gave another painful growl. Ciel finished feeding Cyril, who was still half-asleep with exhaustion, before feeding himself. Then finally, he readjusted his position, lifted Cyril's head up a bit, and tilted the water from the bowl into his mouth. The cool water was refreshing to his bone-dry mouth. The bowl was soon half empty and Ciel drank the rest. The water was welcome, but it wasn't enough to satisfy their thirst. They silently wondered sullenly just how often they would go unsatisfied from this point forward.

The next day was quite the same; viewings, empty bellies, weakness, customers scoffing at their high price, and a small meal that was barely enough to stop their hunger for an hour. The man who Ciel assumed owned them now kept explaining their rarity. Twins, nobility, orphans, virgins, pale or Caucasian, young and small. Somehow each of these traits had a price that could be added to the others. They were the two most expensive children being sold in the tent, even by themselves.

The next morning, not yet bright and very early, a man came into the tent while their owner was still setting up shop.

"I'm looking for children, preferably two or three."

The tent man grabbed his large stick upon looking up in surprise and smiled. "Price range?"

He was given the response, "High."

"I have a lovely pair just here..." The blanket was removed the rest of the way to reveal the twins. Cyril was dozing against Ciel's chest, the older sitting up against the back bars. The man intent on buying leaned closer. "Twins?"

"Identical, too." The man confirmed.

The man intent on purchasing them rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I can see that. Orphans?"

"And virgins."

"Where do they come from?" All the questions the customer asked were asked coldly, or without emotion, because to him these children were little more than cattle. Until he heard the next response.

"They're the children of the late Earl Phantomhive..." Their current owner spoke respectfully. The man's eyes widened as he heard.

"That means you have an Earl in this cage..."

The seller thought for a moment, as though he'd never realized this before.

"You!" He shouted, hitting the bars with the stick, producing a loud clang. Ciel looked up in surprise. "Which of you is older?"

"I am," he answered quickly, not wanting to be hit again. He already had large purple bruises blossoming across his ribs and arms from being prodded and grabbed.

"Perhaps, with a slight price change at this new development, you'd like to purchase these two..."

"For your incompetence and mistreatment of them, you will get your original price. You should've made sure an earl and the next heir in line were displayed...properly. You're lucky they're still virgins." Ciel didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He didn't know what the man meant. Would this man treat them kindly if they were bought? He spoke about their mistreatment like he didn't agree with it, but little did he know he and his brother were going to a place much worse than this.

Money was exchanged, and two more men brought in, all with cloaks and hoods that covered their faces. They were taken out of their cage, and thrown into another work carriage to be transported yet again.  
Cyril was awake at this point now, and Ciel helped him to stretch his legs and muscles out, now that they weren't so cramped in the cage. He never wanted to enter one again...


	4. Our Only Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • South 2nd - CocoRosie  
> • I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin

The work carriage rattled on throughout the countryside as the sun began to rise. It had no windows, so the boys had no idea where they were. All they could deduce was that they were not close to the sea from the smell of the air, which didn't narrow their location down much. The walls of the carriage were wooden and had more cracks than the previous carriage they had been transported in, but there still wasn't much hope of an escape. Save for a few tarpaulins and rope, there was nothing else in the carriage but them. It was a brisk morning and the boys could see their breath on the air. They huddled close together, exchanging body heat, stretching their muscles occasionally. After a while, they heard the men in the front of the carriage begin to talk.

"So, you think everyone will like 'em? That was a lot of money you just dropped."

" _Like_  them? Did you hear what that fool said? They're the heirs of Phantomhive, and word's been spreading everywhere about the demise of the Watchdog. People have been wanting to put him down for years...now he's gone _and_ we've got his children. They're worth every penny; we'll make plenty use of them."

"Will they be lambs as well?" said a third man through a yawn.

"That's not for me to say, but I expect so... It's a good thing we went early, or someone else would have snatched them up before lunchtime. Luck is on our side today..."

'Watchdog'...they had heard that title more than a few times while growing up in the Phantomhive household. Their father, Vincent Phantomhive, had been the Watchdog for Queen Victoria. And while the boys knew that it meant serving Her Majesty and protecting the country, they didn't understand all that the role entailed. From the way these men were talking, it sounded as though their father had been more than just a nuisance to them, such a major problem that there were several people who wanted him dead. Only now, someone had succeeded... Cyril felt like an icy lump had dropped from his throat and settled in the pit of his stomach. Why did people want their daddy dead? And what did that one man mean by 'lambs?' The more the boys learned about their situation, the less sense it all made, and again they were being carried to some unknown fate. Cyril hated feeling so helpless. He shivered and leaned closer to his brother, who seemed to know what he was thinking and placed his arm around him and rubbed his back.

"We'll be okay...as long as we have each other." Ciel told the younger. The men outside continued speaking, and some of the things they were saying were horrible and nasty, others dark and gruesome, but it still didn't give them any hints to where they were going or what it all meant. Ciel kept listening for key words as his teeth chattered and his lungs pricked from the cold. He couldn't even imagine how Cyril felt. He held his hands to his mouth and breathed against them to warm the palms, then held them to Cyril's chest to make sure he kept warm at least there and on his throat.

It had been a long time since they had anything warm to eat or drink or wear, and a long time since they'd been washed and given a chance to relieve themselves. Ciel knew what that could mean. If it got too bad, he didn't want one of them to have to go in their clothes. The smell would be horrid to stay in, not to mention the liquid across their laps would freeze and make them even colder. It might even merit punishment from the men who had bought them.

"Imagine if they are chosen to be lambs. One of 'em will get chosen for the final for sure." Ciel listened to the men carefully.

"Phantomhive too, imagine if we get to finish off the whole family. It'll ensure there will be no watchdog in the future."

Ciel's breathing hitched once as he listened and felt Cyril begin trembling even worse than before, from the cold and from fear. He covered his brother's ears.

"I doubt they'll be killed. There are other ways to prevent the line from continuing, or they'll just be kept caged up. That'll ensure it as well." Ciel gave a small sigh of relief as he uncovered his brother's ears. "Besides, have you heard the way Kelvin used to talk about them to Callaway? And some of the others too. He's one of the few who actually met the Earl."

Cyril was trying to stay calm and keep his breathing even. Though there was a chance they would be killed by these people, it was possible that they would be kept alive as well, albeit as captives. Neither option was appealing, but Cyril latched onto the tiniest glimmer of hope. And then one of the men mentioned someone who had met their father, and apparently, he and his brother as well. Kelvin? The name sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. Cyril, due to his illness, had not gone out to parties with father much. Ciel couldn't remember the name off the top of his head either, but had more pressing things to deal with. He let go of Cyril for a moment, making sure he was curled up tight so he didn't get too cold, and stood up. Walking to the front of the work carriage, he banged with his small hand on the panel he knew sat behind the coachman’s seat.

"Hey!" He called in a small voice, scared of how they'd answer or treat them.

"What is it, kid?" One of the men asked, sounding extremely annoyed, or thin on patience. Ciel's voice trembled a little as he spoke against the wood. "It's been a long time since me and my brother...went to the bathroom." He began. "Do you think we could stop to go? We didn't want to go in our clothes..."

"What did he say?" said the first man, who was the purchaser. 

"They gotta piss," said one of the henchmen. There was a pause and then the purchaser spoke again.

"Stop the carriage."

The coachman brought the carriage gradually to a stop on the side of the winding country road. The purchaser spoke again, talking to the two men who had thrown the boys into the carriage after they'd been bought.

"They're not going without a leash. Make sure they're secure with the rope that's back there. Watch them in case they try anything."

The two henchmen jumped down while the purchaser and coachman stayed. The boys heard them make their way to the back of the carriage.

"Brother?" Cyril whispered.

"This might be our only chance. We won't know if we can manage it until we're out there, but if it seems like we can, we should make a run for it. Just follow my lead. I'll scratch my left ear if we're going for it. You'll need to run very fast."

"What if they catch us?" Cyril looked very scared. Ciel looked down for a moment, considering the potential consequences of getting caught, then back up into his twin's wide eyes.

"Then they catch us and we’ll be no worse off than we are now...but we need to at least try. We'll give it our best."

"Stay back!" called out one of the henchmen from outside. The boys were already a good distance away from the back doors so they stayed where they were. They heard a key scrape in a lock and soon the doors were open. Both men climbed inside and closed the doors. One of them picked up the rope from the corner with the tarpaulins and passed it to the other. They then proceeded to tie a single length of rope around the boys' ankles, with a short length between their feet so they could walk but not run easily. The rope went from Ciel's left ankle to Cyril's right, so they would have to walk close to each other. This was an advantage in some ways but could also make it easier for them to be caught as well. Ciel's mind was racing, trying to think of a plan. There wouldn't be much time once they were outside.

The man who was at Cyril's feet was spending a little too much time tying his ankles. His hand began to wander up Cyril's leg. The boy shuddered at his cold touch and tried to pull backwards away from him but the man grabbed his ankle and held him firmly while his other hand continued to creep upwards.

Ciel was trying to think of how they'd run away with the ropes so close together. He was so deep in thought, trying to think of how they could maybe cut the ropes or make them looser in the time they had that he didn't notice the man's actions at first. Then he felt Cyril shudder beside him and looked over to see the man's hand on his brother's thigh, inching the fabric of his shorts upwards as the ropes around his own ankles became increasingly tighter. He felt a surge of white hot rage run through him, protective of his little brother and not wanting any filth like these men to even look at him let alone touch him in that way. His legs were tied too tightly to Cyril's to kick the man without it being weak. So he leaned down quickly and bit the man's hand as hard as he could, tasting blood in his mouth in the short span of time before a hand came in contact with the right side of his face, knocking him back with so much force that his face hit the wall of the carriage, scraping underneath his left eye and making it bleed and swell. But the man wasn't finished with him. Another blow came to his stomach and he doubled over, arms wrapping around himself as he looked to Cyril and mouthed. "It's okay."

"What was that, you little shit?" The man asked, grabbing Ciel by the throat and hauling him closer. But the older's gaze remained locked on Cyril, who was now whimpering and curling around himself, wanting to help but being too scared to. He needed to save the energy anyway to run if they tried, not having much energy from the last few days.

With his eyes locked on his younger twin, Ciel answered the question by speaking to his brother and not the man. "They're not gonna touch you," his voice came out choked through the hand wrapped around his neck. The man holding Ciel turned slightly pink in the face with anger. He grabbed Ciel's hair with his free hand and forced his head to face forward.

"Oi, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Ciel kept his eyes defiantly on his brother. The other man snickered, "So, the little biter's got some fight in 'im. They'll put that to good use..."

The man with the bleeding hand moved closer to Ciel, so close that he blocked his view of his brother and Ciel could smell his horrid breath.

"I know it might be different from your old pinky-raisin', cotton-wool lifestyle, but 'round here, we can touch whatever the bloody hell we want...and you can't say no."

There was a sudden knock on the other side of the wooden panel. The voice of the purchaser could be heard, sounding agitated.

"What's taking you oafs so long?"

"All good, boss!" shouted the man holding Ciel. He gave one final hard press on the boy's windpipe and then threw him down to the floor with the same hand. Ciel coughed and Cyril put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Get up, you shit," the man sneered.

Ciel looked up at his brother once to give him reassurance and stood up, bruises already forming in the shape of fingertips around his throat and a large scrape under his left eye. As he stood in the back of the carriage the man pulled on the rope attached to their ankles so Ciel fell from the carriage, catching himself on his hands in the snow. The rope tugged on Cyril's ankles too, but not hard enough to pull him down.

"Be careful with them!" The second man whispered urgently to the first man with the bleeding hand.

"They're already bought, and it ain't like they'll be treated any differently once we get there. Besides, this one-" he prodded Ciel's side where he lay on he ground, making him whimper because of the bruises already littered there. "-needs to be taught a lesson. Look at this one." He gestured to Cyril. "Barely makes a peep, doesn't fight back. Too bad he's not as pretty. Too skinny."

"They both look the bloody same to me," the other man said dismissively. "Now c'mon let's take 'em to piss before they do it on themselves. The rest won't be happy if we need to find them new clothes the second they get there."

The first man nodded and had Cyril hop down from the carriage and Ciel stand up. He kept a good length between them but still held the rope and led them to the edge of the woods.

The boys walked a little ways into the forest, the henchman with the bloody hand following a short distance behind them, holding the rope firmly.  The forest was completely white with snow, the stillness almost haunting.  The twins’ bare feet sunk several inches into the snow with each step and they soon turned bright pink.  The cold stung every inch of their skin that wasn’t covered with clothing.  They soon came to a spot that had 3 trees right next to each other, which would provide some minor privacy.  They stepped behind them with the henchman not too far away, only glancing at them occasionally.

The boys were finally able to relieve themselves in the shelter of the trees.  It was incredible to them that such basic human needs such as food, water, clothing, shelter, and relief were suddenly so scarce and precious. Back when the boys were still in the cage at the black market, Ciel had informed Cyril about how he had quickly swallowed the Phantomhive ring to hide it.  They would have to deal with that now.  Cyril helped to shield his brother from view as Ciel knelt down to take care of the ring.

“Hurry up you two, ain’t got all day!” called the man with the rope.

Ciel was disgusted by the lengths they had to go to to conceal the family ring, but it was all they had left of their family, their household, their dignity.  For that, he would protect it from the greedy eyes and hands of others, and he didn’t care how many times he or his brother would have to swallow it.  Once he finally located the ring, he used the snow to clean it as fast as he could, and then covertly put it back in his mouth and swallowed it once again. It was such a large ring for such a tiny throat, and did hurt a bit on the way down, but this was a precious thing, the only thing they had left of family. Once it was down Ciel knew he didn't have long to act. He dug around in the snow a moment or two before finding a jagged rock and scraping it on the point in the rope that connected he and his brother.

"Hey! What are you two doing? Surely even shit don't take that long." The last part was mumbled to himself as the man approached them with a tight hold on the rope to make sure they didn't get away. Ciel knew by now the man was approaching.

"What are you doing?!" He heard Cyril exclaim quietly as the rope finally snapped in half. Ciel's only response was to look up at his now free twin and tell him, "Run!"

It was the only chance they had left, for either of them. There was no time to cut the rope a second time and cutting it closer so Ciel would be free still wouldn't have enabled them to run as fast as they needed to. With Ciel staying behind, he could ensure some extra escape time for Cyril, even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice: his own freedom for his twin's, a child's naive hope.

Cyril was so shocked by what was happening that he wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but as soon as his brother ordered him to run, his survival instincts kicked in and he took off deeper into the woods, as fast as his cold, bound feet could take him. However, his mind immediately feared the worst, as his older brother was still connected to the henchman by the rope. He only hoped that his brother knew what he was doing and would be behind him soon.

Cyril knew as soon as his brother yelled ‘Run!’ that he would have to be careful with how he took his steps, having barely a foot and a half’s length of rope connecting his feet.  He soon figured out after a few paces that half-skipping, half-hopping was the most effective method.  He simply prayed that every time he landed, he didn’t lose his balance or his bare feet didn’t land on anything too sharp.

The henchman with the rope looked on in shock as Cyril suddenly began to run deep into the woods.  He took a few urgent steps forward to go after him, but then realized he needed to keep a hold on the rope that was tied to the other one.  There were two of them, and only one of him, and now, they were separated.  He cursed loudly and then called out behind him to his colleague.

“Evans! EVANS! One got loose!”

The man named Evans immediately rushed to the scene, making to pass Ciel. The boy gasped. No, that couldn't happen. They couldn't go after him, not his brother. Ciel picked up the rock he'd used to cut Cyril loose a moment ago, waited until the man was close enough, and threw it at him. The large thing didn't travel very far with Ciel's short arms, but it didn't need to. It hit the man in the shoulder with such force at just the right angle to rip his coat and cause him to stagger and grab his shoulder in pain. But the hope inside Ciel died as he saw the man recover, and follow after Cyril with much longer legs and a faster pace. He dropped to his knees, repeating the word 'no' to himself over and over like a mantra or a prayer, because _no_ , they couldn't catch Cyril.

He felt the ropes at his feet be tugged harshly and he was dragged by the man with the bleeding hand, preparing himself for whatever punishment came next.

* * *

 

Evans took off quickly after Cyril.  He couldn’t see him at all at first, the boy having gotten a head start, but he soon caught a glimpse of him and pursued, cursing the entire way.

On and on Cyril ran, zigzagging among trees and jumping over logs and boulders, his feet suffering cuts and scrapes from hidden sticks and rocks. He grunted in pain but remained focused on one thing, and that was getting as deep into the forest as possible and losing the man who was giving chase behind him.

Cyril was getting tired.  Although skipping was the most effective method of getting away, it was also the method that required the most energy, and he was quickly running out.  _No_ , he thought. _I can’t stop.  I mustn’t stop. Don’t think. Just run._

Fear and pain and cold tore at his chest.  His body was not used to exerting this much energy, much less in such bitter cold.  He was also dehydrated and malnourished, and these things began to take their toll on the small boy.  He suddenly stopped running and leaned against a tree.  It was only then that he realized just how much his lungs were screaming for rest and warmth.  He could barely breathe, and his pants came in painful wheezes.  Then he glanced behind him, and saw in horror that Evans was gaining on him.  That sight gave him another boost of adrenaline and he set off again, gauging his steps and skips carefully.

Evans was getting closer and closer to the boy.  He took large strides at a fast pace.  At this rate, he would overtake him.  Cyril switched his strategy from speed to stealth.  He needed to hide, and fast, before Evans could see where he went.  He soon found what he was looking for: a great old tree, whose trunk was wide and hollow, just big enough for him to slip inside and be concealed from view.  He crouched down inside the trunk of the tree, and prayed…

It was only a minute or two later that he was found. The man called Evans had watched him disappear ahead of him behind a cluster of trees instead of going past them, and stopped to look there. Reaching inside the hollow he took a hold of the fabric of Cyril's clothing and yanked on it to force him out of the tree.

* * *

Ciel had been forced back into the carriage by the man with the bleeding hand, and had actually been tied there so he couldn't move very far away from his spot. He hugged his knees to his chest, knowing punishment for what he did was to come soon, and praying Cyril had gotten away alright, hoping he had run fast or far enough.

Cyril screamed as he was dragged out of the temporary shelter of the old tree. Evans dragged him out into the open roughly and Cyril flailed. He scratched at the hand holding his shirt. Evans winced but he didn't let go. Instead, he grabbed Cyril's left upper arm. Cyril used his free right hand to grab a handful of snow and dirt and throw it in the man's face. That made him let go for a moment. Cyril began to run again but Evans grabbed his legs a few seconds later and Cyril fell down on his stomach. Cyril kicked his legs as hard as he could but Evans held onto his ankles until he managed to work his way up to Cyril's upper body. Cyril turned on his side, arms flailing, trying to push away. When he fished around in the snow for a rock, Evans grabbed his arms, forced him on his back, and pinned his arms down on either side of his body. Cyril continued to struggle, and the man put all his weight into the hands that were holding Cyril down, pushing him deeper into the snow.

"Stop. Struggling. Stop it!" he said, emphasizing each word with another hard press on Cyril's arms.

Finally, Cyril stopped resisting and went limp. He had lost any fight he had had in him. For a moment, they just stayed there, both panting from exhaustion, Cyril's breaths coming in sharp wheezes. He looked up into the man's eyes above him, silently pleading.

"Ya know, I gotta hand it to ya. In all my years of doing this, I've never had a kid get this far...but now it's time to give up. You belong to our boss's boss, and we will deliver you to him. It's nothin' personal, kid, we're just doin' our job."

Cyril stared into his eyes and began to cry. Evans cursed under his breath and looked away.

"Hate it when they cry," he mumbled and looked back at Cyril.

"Hey!" he shouted, slapping Cyril across the face. Cyril gasped and let out a choked cry.

"Stop crying! Crying's not gonna change a bloody thing. C'mon."

Evans stood and forced Cyril to his feet. The boy barely had any strength left to walk, and his legs shook upon standing. Evans picked him up like a piece of luggage, carrying him under one arm with his arms pinned to his sides so he couldn't flail, and walked back through the woods towards the carriage.

From inside the dark carriage where the ropes bit into the skin on his ankles and wrists, Ciel heard a shouted sentence that made his stomach drop and his lungs contract. "Got him!"

Hot tears streamed down his face, creating a temporary warmth against his cheeks until the climate got to them and turned them ice cold. This couldn't be happening, he'd gotten that far and all for nothing. They were still captives, he and his brother. He'd promised to take care of him, and in that moment, he had failed. _If I had thrown the rock a little higher..._  he thought to himself hopelessly. _If I had fought a little harder, maybe Cyril would've gotten away..._  But he knew it was really no use. Cyril's illness would've stopped him from getting too far, and from the talk of the men outside the carriage, they were more valuable than anything they had and they'd go to great lengths to track them down.

He was blinded by bright light as the carriage doors opened again and Cyril was thrown inside. He was tied by the wrists in the same fashion as Ciel to the other side of the carriage, with ropes looped through metal rings on opposite walls of their moving prison. Ciel was still sobbing, heaving heavy breaths, making it sound like he'd be sick.

"I'm sorry, brother. I'm so, so sorry." He kept saying over and over as the men grabbed at Cyril. 

Cyril was soaked in icy sweat, his breath still coming in painful wheezes, his face still wet with half-frozen tears.  He was exhausted from running in the frigid cold and had no energy left to fight back.  He whimpered as Evans bound his wrists cruelly tight and secured the rope to the metal loops on the opposite wall.  Cyril sat with his knees drawn up and his back against the wall.  He was shivering violently and craved warmth, but it was impossible to move any closer to his brother. Once Evans had gone back to the front of the carriage, the man he'd bitten looked Ciel in the eyes with a malicious expression.

"Nice try, pup." said the man, one hand roaming more quickly than before up Cyril's thigh, like he'd been doing before their escape. Cyril tried to inch himself away without success. "But not good enough. It's too bad I won't be one of the ones allowed to try you out. I'd take the little one first, and make sure you watch every second." He emphasized this with a harsh squeeze at the junction of flesh where Cyril's thigh met his pelvic area. Cyril let out a strangled cry and struggled against the ropes, trying to pry his large fingers off of him with his bound hands.

Ciel struggled, still crying and now screaming. "Don't, don't touch him!" The ropes were digging into his wrists so tightly and rubbing so hard that as he tried to pull himself away from the wall and toward Cyril, his wrists began to bleed slightly. Once the man slapped Cyril's thigh once more for good measure, he slammed the carriage doors shut and Ciel fell limp in his own bindings, still heaving heavy sobs, feeling like this was all his fault.

When the carriage doors slammed shut, Cyril couldn’t do anything but try his best to control his asthma and watch his brother sob, so guilt-ridden about what had happened. This was the first time that Cyril had seen Ciel cry since before their abduction, and the sight of his brother so hopeless tore at his heart. He had only wanted Cyril to escape, completely willing to leave himself at the mercy of these people if it meant Cyril got away and managed to continue his life. Cyril hated being so weak.  If he hadn’t gotten so tired so quickly because of his condition, or if he could have been strong enough to knock his attacker out, perhaps he could have gotten away…but no, he was always the weak one, the damaged one, the less valuable one…

Cyril was very conflicted about what Ciel had done.  Part of him was angry because Ciel had made no attempt to free himself as well, and if Cyril had managed to get away, he would have had to continue on his own, without his brother, and Cyril knew that that would have broken him.  He couldn’t imagine life without his brother in it, especially after the loss of their parents.  He felt that his brother was truly another part of him, half of him, in fact.  If he had gotten away, with his brother left behind to suffer some unknown fate, he would be forever incomplete.

The rest of him felt a tremendous gratefulness and admiration for his brother’s strength, putting _his_ needs and _his_ life before his own, even though he was the heir and would probably do a better job at continuing the family legacy. Cyril felt a sudden wave of shame.

_No, stop thinking like that.  You’re just being selfish.  Your brother needs you, think about him…_

Ciel could hear his brother's labored wheezing over the sound of his own crying, and desperately as he sobbed, tried, as though trying harder would get him somewhere, to pull at his restraints to get closer to Cyril. He tried with all his might; if he tried a little harder maybe it would work. He tried foolishly, pushing his feet against the wall and tugging on the ropes around his wrists, almost trying to run toward his younger twin. Nothing worked except for the ropes, keeping him in place. His desperate sobs continued. He had promised, he promised to take care of his brother. He knew what to do, needed to hold him and keep him warm, Cyril could die. He couldn't die.

This was all his fault. The blood on his wrists from all his desparate struggling started to run down his arms as he thought. If he had fought harder, thrown the rock higher, if he hadn't have made Cyril run through the cold. Even if he hadn't hidden in the damn billiards room, maybe things would've turned out differently, maybe they wouldn't be in this mess.  His thoughts raced.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he kept saying, even when it was too quiet for Cyril to hear and he leaned his head against the wall of the carriage, tears still streaming. His sobs were no longer loud and broken, but still present, heaving breaths choked with tears. He couldn't do anything to save or even help Cyril. He was powerless.

The carriage rattled on through the countryside toward their new home.  Cyril didn’t know what to say or do to comfort his brother.  He couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain.  He cringed at the blood coming visibly from his brother’s bound wrists.  He kept his knees drawn up to his chest to try to keep the very little warmth he had in.  Over the next few hours, Cyril’s breathing slowly went back to normal, though his chest still ached with the sting of the cold.  He leaned sideways against the wall, his head resting on his dangling tied wrists, which hung limply from the metal loop in the wall.  He conserved his energy as best he could, sending weak smiles to his brother across the carriage occasionally.  Ciel had stopped crying but looked utterly miserable.  Cyril tried to focus on any silver lining he could find.

_At least we’re together..._

This was Cyril’s final thought before he slipped into an uneasy sleep.


	5. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Origin (Intro) - Evanescence  
> • Break My Mind - DAGames (Five Nights at Freddy's 4)

It was late afternoon when the carriage finally rolled up to a stately manor in the countryside. Cyril awoke to bright daylight as the two henchmen climbed into the back of the carriage to retrieve them, untying the twins from the walls of the carriage, picking them up, and placing them onto the ground outside. Cyril’s legs could barely hold him up, partially because they had not eaten the entire day. Ciel, who was finally able to get closer to his brother, placed his tied hands over his brother’s head and shoulders, and held him close to his chest. A bitter cold wind lifted their hair and they shivered. Rough hands separated them, grabbing them by the upper arms, and then forcing them to walk up the stairs to the manor. The boys took in the sight of their new home briefly before they were ushered inside. They were practically pushed and shoved through the front doors of the manor.

Inside, there were servants visibly bustling around, almost like it had been back home, all of them dealing with their specific jobs. Out of the bustle, a maid approached the two henchmen.

"Are these the new additions for the Master?"

"Bought this mornin'. They come from Phantomhive." said the man Ciel had bitten. Even the maid smiled and nodded before standing between the twins, almost with a motherly air to herself, and gestured with her face towards the door. With a final glance at the boys, the henchmen left. Their purchaser, however, continued to follow.

The maid, putting a hand on each of their backs, led them forward toward the East wing staircase. She was gentle, and for some reason they went willingly, too tired and hopeless to fight back, and craving that tenderness they were soon to lose. This place reminded them of home, only with different colors and rooms. The feel of it, the luxury... They were led to a small office door that was half open. The maid knocked twice.

"Master, the new arrivals are here for your inspection. "

"Come in," said a gruff but strong voice. The maid opened the door fully, guiding the twins inside the office, their purchaser following behind.

The smell of cigar smoke met the boys' nostrils. The office was spacious and luxurious with a window facing the setting sun. Everything about the office and the manor bespoke a distinguished nobleman. No one would have guessed that the owner was running a seedy underground operation behind closed doors. A great mahogany desk stood in front of the window, and behind the desk stood a man. He was stout but tall, dressed in fine clothes, and was smoking a cigar. He turned around to face his company when the maid left and closed the door. The bright sunset made a silhouette of the man, leaving his face hidden in shadow.

"Well...I see you have not returned empty-handed, Carrow," the man said, eyeing the twins sharply. Ciel made eye contact with him and did not look away.

"Indeed I have not," Carrow said grinning widely. "In fact, I have perhaps the greatest purchase the underworld has ever seen."

The Master raised an eyebrow and stroked his chin, intrigued. "Go on..."

"These boys are the children of the late Earl Phantomhive."

The Master gave a look of mild surprise, which then changed to suspicion. "Are you certain?" He asked, tone laced with doubt.

"Positive, Sir. They were taken the night the Phantomhives were killed; I found them at the market. About ten years old, identical twins, relatively healthy, virgins, and currently...the only survivors of the Phantomhive line."

Cyril shuddered at the cold summation of he and his brother, a brutal reminder that they were now orphans, and little more than a list of words. The Master came out from around the desk and began to circle the twins slowly, like a hawk, sizing up his captured prey. Carrow continued.

"I couldn't possibly pass up the opportunity, Sir. They were expensive, of course, but I think they will be well worth every penny. I'm sure you see the possibilities..."

When the Master walked behind the boys, he stopped and gripped the backs of their necks. Cyril tensed and Ciel repressed a shudder. He did not want to display weakness in front of the man who now owned he and his brother. No matter what, he would maintain his dignity as the now Earl of Phantomhive. The man moved his hand up into their hair, yanking their heads backwards to look at their faces from where he stood behind them.

"A little banged up, but a pretty blue..." He surveyed before letting go of them. "You've done well, Carrow. Take them downstairs and...acquaint them with their new home. When the others arrive we'll have them officially 'welcomed' into the operation." He looked at the man and gave a knowing smile. The purchaser bowed slightly in respect for the Master, grabbed the boys roughly by the arms, and dragged them out of the office.

The man they now knew as Carrow walked the boys back down to the first floor. They went down a long hallway, passing various rooms with servants milling about, occasionally hearing voices. Some of the voices sounded like they belonged to children. At the end of the hallway there was a large metal door. Carrow lifted the great latch and opened the door to a long, narrow spiral stone staircase. The walls were lit by torches set at intervals. He grabbed the boys again by the arms and forced them to descend the dark stairwell. A servant closed the metal door behind them. The boys turned around just in time to see the door closing and latching, and they wondered if they would ever go through that door again.

Carrow jerked their arms roughly to get them to face forward. They proceeded down the large stone steps with some difficulty, as the length of rope between their ankles was barely long enough to descend each great step. When they at last reached the bottom, Carrow moved them towards the right down another hallway. The air was very cold, the floor and walls all made of stone. There were no windows.

 _We must be underground…_ thought the brothers.

To their right, there were a few small rooms that they passed. Some of them appeared to be storage rooms, others clearly for washing. The last room they passed had small cages inside. Ciel looked at them in fear before being forced forward yet again. To their left, they passed archway after archway of what seemed to be entrances to the same, rather large chamber. When they had gone down the main hallway for a while, Carrow turned the boys to the left and they went through the last archway. Once they had completely entered the large chamber, both boys gasped.

They were standing in a huge, circular ritual chamber, held up by great stone pillars and lit by torches on the walls and a grand chandelier which hung from the arched ceiling. Large stone benches lined the circular walls, like an amphitheater…and in the center of the room on the floor, stood a large, rectangular stone altar. Lining the circular benches were large steel cages, all of them containing…children.

One of the cages only contained one small boy, laying in the corner, back against the steel bars. Carrow continued to push them forward, unlocking the cage with the one boy and shoving them inside before kicking at the child's back.

"Wake up," he said half-heartedly before kneeling down and taking the boy's face into one hand between the bars. He sighed and rolled his eyes, as though this were a common annoyance, and reached inside to take the boy by the arms. He wasn't too big and he was skinny as a rail so it didn't take much strength to drag him out. Carrow looked toward the twins.

"Congratulations boys," he said coldly, being sarcastic without the evil smile. "You get a private suite." Carrow then took out a pocket knife and cut their bonds.  He picked up the severed pieces of rope, backed out of the cage, then closed and locked it behind him.  From there, he dragged the lifeless child out of the room, uncaringly.

Ciel watched as their last moments of technical freedom were taken away. He watched his little brother go to the bars and hold onto them, watching the dead boy until he was out of the room. _Is that…going to happen…to us?_ Cyril thought.  Ciel crawled forward to sit next to his brother, putting a hand over his shaking one comfortingly on one of the bars and waiting until Cyril looked over.

"Don't worry," he said, mustering a smile. "I'll protect you." He reached forward to take Cyril's hands off the bars and hold them in his own. "At least we're together in here."

They hadn't been able to hold each other since before their attempted escape, and with their hands entwined, Ciel leaned in close to his brother to feel his warmth, or lack thereof, and just be close to him, his only comfort. He wondered what would become of them next, what would be done with them.

The boys took in their surroundings. The cage they were in was large enough to house several children, but not tall enough for them to stand up. It had clearly not been cleaned in a while. Throughout the ritual chamber was a lingering smell of candle wax, incense, and death. Sound reverberated greatly in the large chamber and they could occasionally hear the voices of the other children. Both twins glanced at the children in the other cages. They were all young like them, boys and girls, some as old as 14, some as young as 5. No matter what class any of them were from, everything had been taken from them. Some had clearly been here a long time, whereas others were fairly new. The children stared at their new fellow captives, some looking curiously from one to the other, clearly fascinated by how identical they were. Some of the older kids shook their heads in pity and looked away.

Cyril leaned in closer to his brother as the elder held him.

"They're staring at us, brother," he whispered. "Should we talk to them?"

"No," Ciel said quickly in a low voice. His wrists were still raw from the ropes, and he didn't want any more punishment to come to either of them. "We could get in trouble."

It was a long while before sounds started to come from the staircase. The children in the other cages immediately cowered back against the back bars of their prisons. Men and women filed in, talking amongst themselves happily. They all wore heavy cloaks and masks as though attending a masquerade ball. Ciel was terrified. What were they going to do, why were the others so scared? One of the men spoke up in front of the others once they all filed in and were dispersed around the room in conversational clusters.

"Listen up you lot!" He shouted happily. "Carrow's brought us a right treat. We have two new treasures with us, and one of them is the bloody Watchdog!" The men around him cheered.

"Two little boys," the man continued, holding up his hands to lull the cheers. "Both the sons of our poor, departed Earl Phantomhive, the queen's bloody puppet." He said, first feigning false remorse, then contempt. "They're twins, look just alike. But we'll change that soon, won't we?!"

The others shouted in delighted agreement before the man went over to their cage and unlocked it. The others seemed to gather, trying to get a better look at their new toys. The man who had just made the announcement and unlocked the cage opened the door wide, gesturing for them to step out as if it was some grand entrance. Ciel was the one who stepped forward first. By the sounds of it, it was him that they wanted. He emerged to laughter and shouts of triumph from the audience. He was immediately grabbed by the arm and pulled close to one of the other men who looked him over.

"This little runt, the new bloody watchdog? We got nothing to worry about anymore, boys."

"Wait till you see the other one, even less of a threat but right pretty nonetheless. Get out here, boy!"

Ciel was being passed between the men, grabbed and looked at and moved around the circle, all the while moving closer to the altar in the center of the room. He dared not struggle until he saw Cyril forced out of the cage and pulled away from the man currently holding him to attempt to walk toward his brother. Cyril was being passed around the room in a similar fashion to his brother, the cultists taking turns looking him up and down and grabbing at him. Ciel did not like all of these strange, sick people putting their dirty hands all over them. A cloaked cultist stopped Ciel’s progress toward Cyril, and resumed passing him around. He struggled more to get away from them to get closer to Cyril but that only sweetened the game for the crowd. They laughed and jeered at his failed attempts to get away.

“Alright, everyone!” called the man who spoke earlier, his voice reverberating loudly throughout the chamber. The cult members fell silent. “The time has come…for the initiation of our new treasures.”

A ripple of excitement and anticipation moved silently throughout the crowd. The cultists stopped passing the twins to each other and simply held them in place. The announcer continued.

“And I do believe I know who should have the honor first.”

The announcer turned from where he had been facing and his eyes fell on Cyril, who was on the opposite side of the circle from his brother.

Cruel hands grabbed Cyril in a vice-like grip, dragging him to the altar. Cyril called out in alarm and resisted in vain.

“No!” Ciel shouted. He made a move to run to him but two cultists grabbed him by the arms and held him still.

“Don’t worry, little pup. You’ll have your turn soon enough,” one of them jeered in his ear.

The people who had Cyril lifted him onto the large stone altar and pushed him down on his stomach, pinning his arms and legs to the cold stone. Cyril maneuvered his head to the side and could just barely make out his brother, who was struggling furiously within the clutches of the men who held him tight, powerless to protect his twin from whatever happened.

“Bring the iron!” commanded the announcer, to someone who stood outside of the circle. A few moments later, a hooded man parted the crowd. He bore with him a steaming, white-hot poker with a branding iron on the end.

Cyril’s breathing came shallow. Confusion and panic clouded his mind. He struggled against his captors, but they held him fast. Suddenly, his shirt was pulled up, revealing his back.

“We brand you with the mark of the noble beast!”

“No!!!” Ciel screamed, and he renewed his struggles. One of his captors clamped a hand over his mouth so that his protests were muffled.

Cyril felt a warmth approaching him, and, without warning, the white-hot branding iron was pressed mercilessly into his skin. Cyril let out an ear-piercing scream as the iron seared into his flesh and Ciel yelled and cried hopelessly. When the iron was removed, a large red scar in the shape of two snakes coiling around each other remained on the left side of Cyril’s lower back, the skin bubbling up as it quickly cooled. Cyril lay panting on the stone surface, his throat hoarse from his screams, Ciel watching him with tears streaming down his face.

Ciel in that moment, felt rage that he'd never felt. He wanted everyone in that room to pay for what they did to his brother. He couldn't stand to see Cyril just laying there, so limp and lifeless and defeated looking. He noticed the other children shuddering when the branding iron was removed. Had this happened to all of them? And he realized it was going to happen to him next. He pushed back against the men, wanting to get away, but it was no use. He was small and powerless to their handlings. Cyril was lifted from the table and once again passed around like a new lamb, people admiring the mark and how it looked against his porcelain skin. They marvelled at Cyril's renewed silence, and how he didn't sob when he cried, only let the tears run as he stared into space in shock, not meeting the gaze of any of the men.

Ciel felt himself lifted up, and he tried to struggle, making desperate whimpering noises as he was. But he felt the cold stone of the altar against his arms and the side of his face and his belly through the thin shirt. He felt the slight warmth left from Cyril's body. The shirt he wore was yanked up and he felt the warmth getting closer. He struggled desperately against them, but a hand pushed down on the small of his back and the top of his head. The white hot burn felt like it spread through his entire body as he screamed, listening to the jestings of the men who seemed amused that the one meant to inherit the title of watchdog now belonged to them; how they'd have fun with him, humiliating the name of Phantomhive.

He kept screaming for a few seconds, even after the branding iron was removed. He wanted to hold Cyril, he wanted the feeling of his skin bubbling and burning to stop. He could practically feel the snakes coiling up his back and around his spine. He was forcefully lifted up and set back down on the ground. Someone behind him pushed him forward, further into the circle. The hand on his back pushed against the new brand and made him yelp in pain before he caught himself on his already raw hands and knees. He was picked up by the scruff of his neck like a cat.

"Looks at those marks on his wrists," some surveyed, hands all over him, inspecting what they now believed was their property. "Why do you think they're so raw?"

"Maybe he likes it rough," one commented.

"I heard he tried to run away, got himself in a bit of trouble. This one's a fighter."

"We'll change that. Don't worry."

"I like it when they fight back," another remarked, a woman this time. "It's no fun without a challenge."

"I prefer this one," said the announcer on the other side of the circle, who was currently holding up Cyril for inspection. "He stays quiet, takes what's given to him like a proper pet."

Cyril, who could barely support his own weight at this point, hung limply in the arms of the man holding him, staring blankly at the floor, eyes glazed over. The words of the licentious crowd reached his ears, but were slow in getting to his brain. Everything around him was hazy. He could no longer make out faces in the crowd and they instead appeared as black, hooded shadows. Then, every sound became muffled, as though he was under water. Hunger and dehydration were beginning to take their toll and his body was still in shock from the sudden excruciating pain. He felt himself being passed to another cult member, but whoever the person was wasn't quick enough in taking the weight of his body, and Cyril collapsed onto the stone floor.

Ciel was still being held in the lap of some man, a member of the cult, when he saw Cyril collapse. He gasped and kicked out of the man's grip, rushing over to his twin. Adrenaline was all that kept him going, otherwise the exhaustion and the pain would've left him in the same boat as Cyril. He knelt next to his brother and shook him, pulling Cyril to him. "Brother, wake up!" He almost begged, not caring if others were listening.

"Put 'em back in their cage." One man said, sounding bored and dismissive. "They're no fun right when they get branded, they're too fragile. Always whining about the pain. Give them a day or two before you start playing."

There was a ripple of audible disappointment from the gathered crowd, clearly not wanting to wait that long to play with the new additions. Ciel remained where he sat on the floor, holding Cyril in his lap, trying very hard to not let the fear that he may not wake up from overwhelming him. He took a few calming breaths as the crowd dispersed throughout the room, catching snatches of speech such as

“We’ll just play with the others”

“How ‘bout one of the titters tonight?”

Even one: “we got Phantomhive!”.

One of the cultists ruffled Ciel’s hair as he walked behind him. Ciel flinched at the touch, his senses hyper-aware and his nerves extremely rattled. Two burly men, wearing regular clothes and clearly not a part of the cult, approached the boys on the floor. Ciel looked up as they got close.

“He needs food! We both do, please!  We haven’t eaten a thing all day…”

“Stop yer whinin’, you brat,” said one of the men as he pulled Ciel up from the floor. “You’ll get yer grub in a little bit, same as all the others.”

“But if he don’t wake up in time, he’s gonna miss out,” informed the other man, putting his arms under Cyril’s back and legs and picking him up. “We don’t do fancy things like plates or bowls here.”

The first man grabbed Ciel by the upper arm and started walking him back to their cage while the other man followed, carrying Cyril.

“Then, how do we eat?”

The question went unanswered as the first man opened the door to the cage and shoved Ciel into it. The other man bent down, leaned inside, and laid Cyril down on the floor. Then they both left, and closed and locked the cage

A short time later, the cultist who made the earlier announcements came to the cage with another man, someone who appeared to be the announcer’s right-hand man. He was thin but muscular, with a defined jaw. He was dressed a little nicer than the other henchmen had been, and he carried himself with a noticeable arrogance, probably a bit more educated than the others. He had strange-looking chains in his hand. Ciel felt a sudden chill when he saw him that was different from the other bad feelings he received from the other cultists. He was dangerous, and Ciel was immediately wary of him. He unlocked and opened the door and crouched inside, the announcer standing outside, guarding the entrance.

“Welcome to the family,” the assistant said to Ciel, smirking. “Here’s your ‘welcome home’ jewelry. Stick out your foot.”

“We’re not your family,” Ciel spat out, still seething with anger, holding Cyril’s unconscious form close to him, shielding him from the bloke.

The man narrowed his eyes, smiling a cruel smile, and then, as quick as the blink of an eye, he gave a swift, backhanded slap across Ciel’s face, which made the boy fall backwards into the back bars of the cage.

“Let’s get one thing straight, you little bootlicker. You probably think you’re a big man, being the son of the Watchdog and all. But he’s dead, and you belong to us now. Around here, you do as you’re told, you take what you’re given, and you speak when you’re spoken to. Otherwise, you keep your pretty little mouth shut if you know what’s best for you.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, Ciel glaring daggers into the man’s eyes, breathing in and out of his nose, keeping his mouth a closed, thin line. He was nearly shaking with rage. After a moment, the humor left the man’s eyes as he let his smirk fall into a more blunt, serious face.

“I’ll say it one more time. Stick. Out. Your. Foot.” He practically spat out the last word. Ciel continued to scowl at the man. He didn’t want to obey, but he also didn’t want any more trouble for himself or his brother tonight. At last, without breaking eye contact, he swallowed his retort and slowly unbent his left leg, which had been under his other leg that was supporting Cyril, and moved his foot forward. The man gave a sadistic smile and then proceeded to place one of the shackles he had upon Ciel’s ankle. He closed the cuff, put a small padlock through the two metal loops where the two sides connected, and clicked the lock shut. He then locked the other cuff, which was connected by a short length of thick chain, to one of the bars on the side of the cage. Ciel did not remove his gaze from the man’s face as he went to Cyril and did the same with one of his ankles. Finally, he straightened up.

“You’re going to be so much fun to break, watchpup. I’ll see you soon. Nighty-night.”

He exited the cage and locked it. The announcer raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed, Selwin.”

“Just needs some firm training is all, Pryor,” Selwin said with a smug smile. “And while we’re on the subject,” he said, turning his back to the boys and lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. “Perhaps the Master let me take him first...”

Pryor’s eyebrows raised even higher, and then considered him shrewdly. “We'll talk to him tomorrow,” and they left the chamber.

Ciel glowered at the two as they left, wishing for a moment that glares could kill. Then, a movement in his lap drew his attention. Cyril was waking up.

“Ciel?” Cyril muttered.

Ciel looked down as his brother spoke and held him tighter. "Cyril, you need to stay awake," he said quietly but urgently, tone saying this was important. "We'll be getting food later but if you aren't awake for it you won't get any. You have to stay awake so you can eat."

Ciel looked up at the other children. A few were still staring at them, and Ciel turned slightly away from them while still holding his little brother. He must've wondered this a hundred times in the past three or four days, but what was to happen to them? These men, what were they going to do to him? To Cyril? They seemed to get a big kick out of the fact that their father was Earl Phantomhive, but Ciel realized something. Their father wasn't the Earl, he was dead. Everyone who had spoken about them seemed to agree that he was the Earl now. And he supposed he was. The burden of that weighed on his shoulders. That's what was meant to happen if ever father died. He was the head of the family.

Cyril looked up at his brother's pensive expression, his vision a bit blurry. He was still dizzy, but the prospect of food and possibly water made him wake up fully. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and accidentally brushed his back up against Ciel's leg, causing his fresh, raw brand to sting painfully. He gasped and held his sides. He suddenly became aware of the shackle on his ankle. It hung heavy on his foot and was so tight against his skin that it had already begun to chafe him. He glanced at Ciel's shackle and back at his own and frowned, fiddling with the cuff part and failing to make it any more comfortable.

Ciel watched his brother's confusion and sadness at the shackle. He didn't even know why it was necessary. They were already in locked cages and in a locked cellar of a large manor with servants. Escape was highly unlikely. Some of the other children didn't even have shackles themselves. Ciel wondered if this was extra security. Everyone seemed to think they were rare and special. Were they making absolutely sure they wouldn't get away?

Ciel was glad Cyril had strength enough to sit up, but hated that he and his brother were hurt like this. He took his sleeve and rubbed it against two of the steel bars, the white fabric coming away blackened because the bars were so dirty. But they were metal and they were cold. He gestured for Cyril to come closer. "Here, we can press our burns against the bars. It'll feel better."

Cyril crawled over to the bars of the cage that Ciel had just wiped with his shirt. It was chilly in this underground chamber and all they had to wear were thin shirts and shorts, but their burns were still tender and raw. Cyril gently lifted up his shirt after scooting himself close to the bars behind him and slowly leaned back so that one of the bars pressed against the brand. Cyril gave a sharp intake of breath as the cold steel met his stinging flesh, but then sighed in relief. It was surprisingly soothing against his skin, probably one of the few respites from pain they would have. Cyril closed his eyes and savored it.

Cyril wasn't sure how to feel about having been branded. This was something that was done to cattle and pieces of meat, not humans...at least that's what he had always been told. Did that mean that these people saw he and his brother as cattle? And if so, what did that mean? Did they do it to the other children? What was going to happen to them? He didn't even know what the brand looked like. He felt violated, ashamed, and sullied.

Ciel watched as Cyril's face relaxed and followed to do the same. It stung at first, and he subconsciously hoped he wasn't getting their fresh wounds dirty, but the cold against his burns soothed the pain almost instantly after the initial moment of shock at the cold. He sat right next to Cyril so while the bars cooled their burns their bodies kept each other fairly warm.

The twin boys sat in silence for a while, their wounds against the cold bars of their cage. Their hands found each other at their sides and they interlocked their fingers. They had no idea what was going to happen to them now. They were orphans, heirs to a grand estate and title, and they had been sold to a disturbed cult of debauched adults. They hadn’t had any time to properly grieve the loss of their parents, and had been forced into a constant state of self-preservation and survival.  They were terrified of what was to come, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that they had to stay present, to keep their wits, and not succumb to despair or insanity…

After what felt like ages, there was a sudden loud clanging that rang out throughout the chamber.  The boys jumped at the sudden noise, wondering what was going on.  They looked to their left and saw two of the men they had seen earlier entering the chamber.  One was carrying a large metal pot and ladle, while the other held…a funnel?

“Listen up brats! It’s time for dinner!”

 _Food. Yes. At last._  The boys unconsciously licked their dry lips. At first, it appeared that the men would go to the cage across the room from them, but they changed course and came straight to the twins.  The boys made their way cautiously to the front of the cage.

“Since yer the guests of honor tonight, you get to eat first.”

The man with the funnel approached the cage, reached in, and grabbed Cyril by the shirt, pulling him roughly up against the bars. Cyril put up his hands to try to stop himself from hitting the bars too hard, and the man grabbed his right wrist tightly, holding him in place.

“We can’t have you dying on us now. Open up!”

The man reached down and used his other hand to seize Cyril’s face, his fingers pressing hard into either side of his jaw, forcing his mouth open. The funnel was then pushed into his mouth and held still by the man’s hand while the man with the pot scooped an unidentifiable mushy substance into the funnel. The slop that met Cyril’s tongue was nothing short of disgusting. The taste was unlike anything he had ever consumed in his life.  He wasn’t even certain what this ‘food’ was supposed to be. It was cold, salty, gritty, bitter, and slimy all at once. The man holding him was forcing the mush down his throat too fast and Cyril couldn’t swallow quickly enough. He tried to pull away but the grip on his wrist was too strong. He gagged on the mush and some of it poured out of his mouth and onto his clothes and the floor.

“Oi! Don’t you spill that!” said the man holding the pot.

“You’re doing it too fast!” shouted Ciel, appalled that anyone would ever think of feeding someone in this way.

“Shut it, you! Or you can starve till tomorrow!”

Ciel fell silent, biting his lower lip and staring at the men.  When the man with the funnel released Cyril at last, the boy slumped down on the floor, coughing and retching.

Ciel knew the man was coming to him next. He knew it would be disgusting, but it was their only form of nourishment, so he opened his mouth obediently and tried to swallow down the slop being shoved down his throat. Once the funnel was taken from his mouth he gagged and fought to keep the food down, immediately hugging Cyril to him to soothe himself and his brother. At least they had some food in their bellies.

The man went around to the other children who were eager to get the food. Ciel didn't like this place. All he wanted to do was cry and sleep. He settled for sleep and hugged Cyril to him as he tried to keep calm.

Many of the torches in the underground chamber had been extinguished, plunging the large room into an almost complete darkness. Cyril was miserable. His stomach was full enough, but it remained unsatisfied, and it continued to make noises, not accustomed to the strange slop it had been forced to accept. Cyril, meanwhile, had given up trying to figure out what it was. He decided he didn’t really want to know. He lay in his brother’s embrace, their foreheads pressed together, holding each other’s hands tight. Neither wanted to let the other go. The temperature had also plummeted, the night having now taken hold. The boys slipped into an uneasy sleep.


	6. Silk

The twins slept with their legs and arms tangled, chests pressed together as they cuddled for comfort and warmth. Ciel woke first, not knowing how long they had slept, but knowing it must have been far into the next day. Having been kept up so late with pain and the cult preparing them, then not having someone to wake then up in the morning, they must've slept a very long time. He knew it wasn't night yet, because that seemed to be when all the cultists gathered, and yet, the large door at the top of the cellar staircase opened. Most of the other children were asleep too, others cowered in fear as they heard the door open and awaited the early guest.

"Thank you for giving me the honor, my lord," said the man politely. It was Selwin.

"You've earned him. You've donated to our cause...most graciously." The Master of the estate answered back. His voice stayed far away, as though he remained at the top of the stairs. "You can inspect him and make your decisions, a room shall be ready for you tonight after he himself is prepared."

"Very good, thank you," said Selwin.

A short time later, the two rough blokes who had fed the children the night before came over to the twins' cage.

"Which one is it?" asked the first man.

"It's the older one Selwin wants, he's got his mark on the right side," said the other as he unlocked and opened the cage. The noise made Cyril stir.

"What's going on?" mumbled Cyril, rubbing his eyes.

The first man crouched down and walked inside the cage. He pulled up Cyril's shirt roughly and then Ciel's. Finding what he was looking for, he knelt down and unlocked Ciel's shackle. The boys watched him, confused. Ciel winced slightly as the cuff was removed, his skin having been chafed a little by the tight metal.

"What's happening?" Ciel asked the man.

"Yer comin' with us."

"What?!" Cyril exclaimed, thinking they were being separated. "What about me?"

"You stay put. Now stop askin' questions."

"No!" Cyril grabbed Ciel's arm and held as tightly as he could. He had no idea where they were taking his brother or what was going to happen to him, and that terrified him.

"Get off, you damned brat!" The first man shouted.

The man tried to pull Cyril off of Ciel as he dragged the boy to the entrance of the cage, but he had wrapped his tiny arms around his brother and tightened his grip. He vowed to never let him go. He couldn't lose Ciel too...

Ciel held tight to Cyril, scared of where they were taking him and what they would do. He felt as though he was going to die, or worse.

"No! No, stop!" He kept shouting. Finally a second man came and held Cyril while the first took Ciel away, both of them crying now for the other to stay with them. He was carried up the stairs, sobbing and voice already rough from screaming. His mouth was covered by a hand. He was back in the foyer of the manor and was set on the ground and smacked once by the man.

"You're gonna cooperate, you hear me you little bugger? If you do as you're told you'll get a special treat, if you don't, you'll get hurt. Or better yet, your brother will."

Ciel was scared, so he tried to quiet his cries and nodded. He was handed over to a maid who took him gently by the hand. He looked up at her as though her tenderness was the most foreign thing he'd ever encountered. She led him to a wash room, where a tub was filled with hot water. A bath? He was really getting one?

The wash room was hot and steamy. The maid went over to the tub and tested the temperature of the water with her hand. There was a window and Ciel could see that the sun was setting, which told him just how long he and his brother had slept. The maid came back over to Ciel, smiled, and knelt down on one knee to unbutton his shirt. Ciel was reminded of home. How their maids, nannies, or sometimes Tanaka would help undress and bathe them. He remembered when he and Cyril took baths together and played, and the day they took their separate baths and played afterwards to make up for the time lost.

He let himself be undressed by the maid until he stood naked before her. She ignored the wounds and the brand and put a hand gently on his back to guide him into the bath. The hot water felt nice on his cold skin and tight muscles, even the bruises were soothed. Then he sunk down far enough to the burn and sucked in a breath through his teeth as the brand was licked by the equally hot water. He could feel the white iron against his skin again. He felt the maid begin washing the dirt from him and he tried to relax and enjoy it while it lasted.

The maid was gentle but thorough. She was young, approaching her twenties. She hummed a simple tune from her childhood while she washed the boy, which always made her job easier. She was grateful to have been given more time to bathe this boy. She was usually forced to get the children clean, dressed and ready in less than five minutes. The lords were so demanding and impatient... But something was different tonight. She had been given a generous bonus to take extra care of this particular boy. Such a bonus was rare, so she knew this boy must be special, though she didn't know who he was. She would save every penny of the extra money, sock it under her mattress for when the day came at last that she would leave this dreadful place. Some of her fellow maids enjoyed this kind of life, but she merely tolerated it. She tried not to think about what was going to happen to the boy when he left her care...

She noticed the boy had already been roughed up, but she was accustomed to this. She was washing his arms when she got close to the rough, raw skin around his wrists. She would need to take special care here. She took his right hand in her left to hold it still in case he flinched, and picked up the soapy washcloth in her right. "This will sting a little."

Ciel looked up at her, those wide blue eyes still wet with tears and she sighed in pity when he nodded like he knew and accepted it. She washed him and he shook slightly, trying to hold back the noises he wanted to make. She washed the other and it was the same again.

Once she was done, she helped lift him out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel. She dried him off and brushed his hair away from his face to show off his eyes. She dress him in something that looked like a dressing gown that was colored purple and felt like silk. Ciel looked down at the thing and then up at the offered hand. He took the maid's hand once again and was led down a hallway and to a large bedroom. It reminded him of mother and father's. There was a four poster bed with deep blue drapings, silk sheets, and plump pillows. A large wardrobe to his right sat flush against the wall and next to a desk with a small pile of books neatly laid on the surface. There was food and whiskey on the bedside table which was a rich cherry wood with a brass knob. Everything in the room implied grandeur.

The maid closed the door behind her once Ciel was inside and he was left alone in the room with the darkening sky making the room appear half in shadow. He tried to open the door and found it locked, so he went over to the food and saw the small spread. Bread, real bread. Strawberries, grapes. He took a few and ate them, sighing contentedly at the sweet taste. He couldn't eat too many though, or he'd get sick from the richness.

The door opened.


	7. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic depictions of rape. If you are triggered by this, do not read this chapter. Short, trigger-minimal synopsis of the chapter is located in the post-chapter notes.
> 
> Song guide:
> 
> • Haunted - Evanescence (Radio Edit)  
> • Undone - FFH

Selwin took in the scene before him. The boy stood there in the dimly lit bedroom in his fresh silken robe, his skin completely unmarred except for the noticeable bruise under his left eye from where he had hit the wall of the carriage they had been transported in. The moon had risen and shone through the large window along the wall adjacent to the bed. Selwin looked the boy up and down and smiled.

"Good evening...my little watchpup. I see you have been well tended to."

Ciel was starting to get an inkling of what might happen, torture or worse, and he was terrified. He gulped once, not knowing what to say. He took a step back from Selwin, even though the man was still in the doorway, the backs of his thighs hitting the large bed.

Selwin could see the fear in the boy's wide eyes, even from here, and it made him feel powerful. Selwin closed the door and locked it. He then reached up and dropped the key on the top of a tall armoire that stood in the corner. Even he would have to stand on something to retrieve it. He then approached Ciel slowly, locking eyes with him. When he got close, without bending or kneeling, he put out a hand, and cupped Ciel's left cheek, feeling the soft, smooth skin. He was exquisite.

Ciel almost flinched away from the hand but remembered what one of the men had told him. He'd be hurt, or Cyril would be. He had to do as he was told and not fight anymore. Fighting had gotten he and Cyril in trouble last time and it hadn't ended well. He swallowed again, trying to control his quickening heartbeat and breathing at the man's somehow soft touch.

Selwin moved his hand slightly, his long fingers extending around the back of the boy's neck, feeling the tiny, soft hairs there, while his thumb remained on his cheek, stroking gently. He felt the boy repressing shudders beneath his touch. He then placed his right hand under the boy's chin and lifted it so that their eyes met.

"I'm afraid we did not get to properly introduce ourselves. They call me Selwin, but you will address me properly as lord or master. What is your name, son of the Watchdog?" Selwin asked with a seedy smile, continuing to caress the boy's cheek.

Ciel's eyes flickered toward the cheek where Selwin's finger rested. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his chest tight and heart rate fast. His voice came out stammered as he stared into the man's cold eyes and saw his dark smile.

"C-ciel," he answered shortly, small shoulders moving up and down with his hard breathing.

"Ciel...Ciel Phantomhive...a lovely name," Selwin said slowly, almost as though he was tasting it. "My compliments to your parents," he said, shifting his left thumb that rested on Ciel's chin up to his lips, moving slowly from one side of Ciel's mouth to the other, feeling those soft, virgin lips. He could almost hear the boy's heart pounding.

Ciel pulled away slightly at the mention of his parents, but remained quiet. He didn't like the way this man was touching him. Surprisingly, he wanted to be back in the cage with Cyril, hugging his brother close to keep him warm.

"Oh, it seems I struck a nerve. I knew your father, Ciel. A few years back, I was running a lucrative underground business in human trafficking, children being my specialty." Selwin ran the fingers on his left hand along Ciel's jaw and moved upward. He began to stroke his hair. "Your father pursued me, and I evaded him for a while. But one day, I lost the game. My operation and base were destroyed, and I was captured by the Watchdog. Miraculously, my life was spared. I was incarcerated, of course...but money is a powerful thing. I was not imprisoned for long, but my reputation in polite society had been ruined. I was forced to start from scratch, all thanks to your despicable father. Well, it seems I have the last laugh tonight," he finished with a cold grin.

"Why?" Ciel asked, voice defiant. He didn't want to hear of his dead father or the things he'd done. They had been noble things, for queen and country, and if he had done them they had been honorable and just things. "What are you going to do?" There was still a hint of fear, but Ciel tried to remain strong as he looked up at the man, his head tilting back making Selwin's hand fall from his hair.

Selwin met the boy's defiant gaze, pleased to see that the brat still had some fight in him. It wouldn't be any fun without some resistance. Breaking the proud Phantomhive would not be easy, but he would savor every moment, hoping that the ghost of the Watchdog was watching. Even if he wasn't, Selwin's vendetta would at least be satisfied.

"Well, for the next few hours, you belong to me...and according to your master, as long as I don't cause...permanent damage," his left hand had fallen to Ciel's upper arm, which he gave a brief, hard squeeze, "I can do as I please. People will hear you scream, yes, but no one will come to your aid. It's sad, isn't it, the way lust and greed overrun people's hearts? Sad, yes. And profitable. Now that the Watchdog is out of the way, I can continue what I started..."

Once Selwin finished talking, he was sure the man wanted to torture him or kill him, when he said to continue what he started. Ciel assumed he was behind the murder of his parents. His mind raced to so many conclusions. He struggled and tried to pull his arm out of Selwin's grip and to scratch at his hand and arm to make him let go but to no avail. When he tried to get away his feet slipped out from under him since there was no place to run and he fell backwards, back hitting the edge of the bed.

Selwin seized the opportunity and grabbed Ciel's arms and held them against the bed, Ciel's bare feet coming off of the floor temporarily. Selwin loomed above him for a moment and then lowered his head down to Ciel's right ear. His next words came out in a sinister whisper.

"If you want to see your dear brother again, you'll do exactly as I say."

Ciel closed his eyes tightly so he didn't have to see Selwin's face and nodded quickly. Not Cyril, the whole reason he kept getting hurt was to protect Cyril. If this man got bored with him, what if he did this to Cyril instead? He was scared for his brother; he knew he must be miserable all alone in the cage, cold without his body there to help warm him. And he was in this nice bedroom, and had just been washed and ate some food. He felt guilty, but he also didn't want Cyril with this man. He was so conflicted. He nodded again, knowing to do what he was told but not knowing how much pain was coming.

Selwin reveled in the boy's fear. He had found his weakness. He gave a cruel smile and whispered in Ciel's ear again.

"Get on your knees."

Ciel opened his eyes slowly but looked past Selwin, not wanting to meet his gaze. But he did as he was told, moving ever so slowly. Sitting up, wrapping his arms around himself, and kneeling on the ground before Selwin to where if he leaned back enough, his back would rest against the side of the bed and his neck on the edge so his head could lay back on the mattress. But he didn't do that, he stayed upright on his knees, hands on his knees as well, awaiting instructions. Instructions that could potentially save Cyril a lot of pain, or his life.

Selwin stood directly in front of Ciel. The boy was beautiful, on his knees and terrified, but obedient.  He had to give the kid credit: he would do anything for his brother. _True loyalty..._ that was something Selwin had never had. His loyalty was always either bought, bribed, or blackmailed.  No one had ever been truly loyal to him. This realization hit Selwin quite suddenly and for the briefest moment, he simply stood there, his cold eyes momentarily blank. Then he quickly snapped himself back to the present and refocused his attention on his prey before him. His expression turned hard and cold.

 _I don't need loyalty,_ he thought, as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it loose from the loops of his dress pants. He tossed the belt aside onto the floor and looked directly into Ciel's eyes. His gaze was cold and unfeeling. And there was something else there as well...was it anger?

Selwin extended out a hand and placed it on the side of Ciel's head. He closed his eyes, stroking the boy's hair and face, and then proceeded to unbutton his trousers. Once the final button was undone, he let them fall to his ankles and his throbbing erection was revealed. He waited for Ciel to look back up at him before giving him his next instructions.

"Open your mouth."

Ciel looked back up at the man and saw the length before him. It was intimidating, especially with the command he was given and the place he knew it would be going. It couldn't fit, it wouldn't, not unless he choked on it. Ciel wouldn't be surprised if this was their humiliating way of killing him, to choke him with a cock and leave him in a robe on the floor of some stranger's manor. He wanted Cyril, he wanted his brother, but he wanted him to be okay. So he opened his mouth slightly, not wide enough to fit the thick member before him inside, but he opened it nonetheless, looking resigned, eyes still holding fear despite no longer being wide. He trembled, hands on his knees still.

Selwin watched the conflict in the boy's eyes. He was adorable, and it gave Selwin tremendous satisfaction to see the fearful resignation on the boy's face. He decided to compound Ciel's humiliation. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of Ciel's hair, pulling the soft locks harshly but keeping his head relatively in place.

"A little wider, watchpup," said Selwin, in the most condescending voice he could muster.

Ciel's bottom lip quivered, but he obeyed after giving a small whimper at the tug to his hair. It made him remember being dragged out of his hiding place the night of their parents' murder.

Selwin chuckled softly to himself as the boy whimpered and then opened wide. At last he was able to slowly slide himself into the boy's mouth, forcing him to breathe in and out through his nose, which made his shaky breathing more evident. "Now suck. Pretend it's a lollipop and use your tongue. You might even like it."

Ciel didn't want to. His jaw hurt from the stretch and he could feel the head of the man almost hitting the back of his throat. He didn't want to suck, he wanted to gag, to pull off and that's what he started to do. Selwin smiled at the sight before him. He could see the boy's discomfort, his desire to pull away. Selwin placed his left hand on the back of Ciel's head so that he couldn't move backward. He wanted to feel that innocent tongue on his arousal...and then destroy it.

It would've been bad enough if Selwin just did it, but now forcing Ciel to do it himself, willingly, this was twice as worse. Ciel braced his hands on his knees tightly, nails almost drawing blood as he closed his lips and moved forward, gagging as it hit the back of his throat and choking, spit dripping down his chin.

"That's it," Selwin said slowly, his arousal building. "That's a good boy." He began to move his hips back and forth.

"You're learning so fast, little one," he breathed out, wrapping Ciel's blue locks around his fingers tightly.

Ciel didn't see how he was learning anything. For a while the movements were the same, differing in speeds. His head was held in place by his hair and Selwin slid in and out of his throat while he kept his lips closed and sucked occasionally. Whenever he gagged too hard or needed to breathe, Selwin pulled out completely before shoving back inside. His jaw was beginning to ache, tears pricking in his eyes. He was glad no one was here to see this, he felt so exposed and used; he felt so much like nothing.

He hugged his arms to himself, trying to picture Cyril and forget about the man above him. But at one point, Selwin went in as far as he could, and Ciel could almost feel his throat tearing in two. He gagged and choked around it, trying to scream, but all it did was send vibrations and muffled sounds through his throat and to the cock inside it. He clawed at Selwin's hips and thighs, just enough to draw blood, before he was thrown back. He crumpled to the floor, trying to catch his breath, wiping his mouth.

Selwin looked down at his thighs and felt the blood that had been drawn. He chuckled to himself as Ciel coughed raggedly on the floor. Selwin walked over to the boy and knelt down. Ciel looked up at him with his tear-stained face. Selwin held out his hand, his fingertips wet with blood.

"Look at the mess you made. Lick it off."

Ciel, still with wet tears on his face, looked at the man in disgust and backed up slightly on his hand and knees.

"No," he said, voice rough and choked from the long and brutal fucking it had received. It almost sounded like a plea, a plea for no more. Selwin raised his eyebrows, hand still outstretched.

"No?" he said in a dangerous voice. "Tell me, watchpup, who do you belong to right now?"

Ciel knew what was coming couldn't be good, but he still had a spark of defiance in him. He didn't belong to anybody. And he was ashamed to say he didn't think of Cyril before he answered, hoping the man would take out his anger on him and not his brother after he said "no one" in an almost proud voice, shoulders straightening. But he didn't meet Selwin's gaze directly. He couldn't; it felt like fire and daggers.

Selwin narrowed his eyes, looking deep into Ciel's big blue ones, that deeply ingrained Phantomhive pride emanating from their depths. Part of Selwin despised the boy for his pride, while another part reveled in it. It would make it all the more satisfying when he finally broke the child.

"No one, really?" he said, amused. Selwin leaned forward and placed his thumb and fingers on either side of the boy's face, squeezing his cheeks and pulling him forward slightly, so that their faces were within inches of each other. "That's not a very nice thing to say to someone who paid so much just to be with you."

"That's your own fault," Ciel spat at him, frustrated and scared. Fight or flight kicked in, and Ciel was one to fight. And again he regretted his words. _Hurt me, hurt me and not Cyril_ he kept thinking _I'm the one you want, I'm the Watchdog..._ He curled closer to himself.

Selwin gave a cruel grin. In one fast, fluid movement, he let go of Ciel's cheeks and smacked him across the face with such force that the boy fell face down on the carpet. He then stood up and gave the boy a sharp kick to the side. Ciel couldn't help but be relieved Selwin was taking his anger out on him. He took deep slow breaths, trying not to cry out in pain or fear, his pride still high, the weight of the blue ring in his belly as he focused on other things. But when he received the sharp kick he could almost feel something crack or split and it made it hurt to breathe. That was the only noise he let out besides labored breaths of trying to keep calm.

"I will show you exactly who you belong to, you wretched brat!" he spat out. He reached down and pulled the boy up by the hair. Gripping the shoulder of the loose, silken garment he wore, he ripped it off harshly, the cloth falling from Ciel's body, leaving him bare. The boy's arms came up to shield himself before being dragged to the edge of the bed and bent over. Selwin pinned his arms behind his back and pressed his face into the coverlet, Ciel's toes barely touching the floor.

Ciel was now completely naked and exposed, bent over before Selwin. He shut his eyes tightly, knowing what would happen next and knowing there would be no warning or gentleness. His mouth had already been used, and in this position there was only one hole Ciel could think of, and it was next. He squeezed his thighs together, hoping it would make it harder for the man to get in, and bit the duvet beneath him.

Selwin leaned over Ciel's back and pressed his nose into the boy's neck, sniffing his hair. He straightened a little and took in the rest of his prey's back. Pale and soft, freshly bathed, unspoiled except for the dark brand that lay starkly against the boy's flesh. Selwin felt a tiny stab of jealousy. He leaned back down and whispered in Ciel's ear. "If it hadn't been for your father, this brand might have been mine," said Selwin, holding Ciel's arms against his back with his left hand and using his right to lightly stroke down the boy's back and then trace the brand with his fingers.

"No matter, though," Selwin continued. "I can mark you myself." He then pressed his thumb deep into the raised skin that was still healing.

Ciel screamed in his scratched, rough voice at the pain it caused. He could feel the thumbprint pressing into the skin. He didn't know if he could take it. He struggled and tried to free his arms and legs but he was pinned down hard. He wiggled, like a worm trying to get across the dirt. His chest slipped across the silk sheets.

Selwin reveled in the boy's struggles. The way he arched his back in agony was a thing of pure beauty that he would never tire of witnessing, especially if he was the cause. When he finally lifted his thumb from the boy's brand, he leaned forward again and muttered in his ear.

"You scream quite nicely...I’d like to hear it again." Selwin tightened his vice-like grip on Ciel's arms and pushed them mercilessly up his back, straining the muscles and tendons that weren't meant to stretch that far.

Ciel gave a small cry and some labored pants, trying to keep the noise inside of him so as not to satisfy Selwin. He kept his thighs pressed together and chest flat on the bed along with his face, turned to the left side where the patch of wet blanket he'd bitten pressed against his cheek.

Selwin loosened his push on Ciel's arms when he noticed it wasn't having the intended effect and turned his attention to Ciel's legs. Continuing to hold Ciel's arms in place, Selwin moved his free hand down to Ciel's right leg, starting at the back of the knee, and caressing the skin up and down the boy's leg. He began to get aroused again. The skin trembled slightly at his touch, and he slowly continued upward. When he reached the soft, fleshy tissue of Ciel's buttock, he grabbed hard, digging his nails in and not letting go. He was soon drawing blood.

Ciel let out only small whimpers until the blood started to drip down his legs and he let out a small strangled cry. He bit into the blanket again and tears leaked from his eyes, arms searching frantically for something to grip onto. But they were pinned behind his back and he squeezed his own forearms. He wanted this to be over, but he would never beg.

Selwin leaned over once more and murmured in Ciel's ear. "I'll ask you again. Who do you belong to?" he asked, replacing his grip on Ciel's arms with his now bloody right hand and raising his left to his own mouth. He placed two fingers inside and began to lick and suck.

Ciel didn't know how to answer. He didn't want to have any more pain, he didn't want Cyril to be punished.

 _No one..._ he thought _No one, just say it. You belong to no one..._

"...You," he said, in his smallest voice, tears making his voice choked. He couldn't. He didn't want pain, he wanted Cyril safe. And in his head he yelled at himself internally. He bit his lip hard and let sobs rack him and he hid his face in the bed to muffle them, feeling blood still dripping down his right thigh. Selwin felt a rush of triumph at the boy's defeated submission. He had reduced the proud Phantomhive to a sobbing wreck...and now he would finish him.

"That's right," Selwin said in his ear. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

He hovered his thoroughly licked middle finger at Ciel's entrance, and then, without warning, forced it inside him.

At the sudden intrusion, Ciel's eyes widened and his entire front arched so his face was off the bed as well as his shoulders. The skin on his back scrunched and made the brand hurt even worse and he let out a strangled cry, not exactly a scream, but it was choked and rough from the pain and hot tears that kept streaming down his face. His fingers gripped his own forearms so tightly he was afraid his nails would draw blood. He couldn't do anything from where he was pinned except wait for the next blow or next finger. He panted heavy breaths. He found that keeping his legs together was only making it hurt worse. No matter what, Selwin would find a way in. So with as much dignity as he could muster, he spread his legs open and found a small bit of the burn relieved.

Selwin felt his arousal building from Ciel's cries and struggles. Both hands already full, he began to rub his erection against the back of Ciel's thighs, all the while pushing deeper into the boy with his finger. Then, with some difficulty, he forced a second finger in, pushing and spreading him open. Ciel tore a bit at the second finger, his small hole not used to or ready for this. He could feel the man's length, still wet from his mouth, rubbing against his thighs and he fought the urge to retch. Selwin's breaths steadily increased as he continued to twist and spread his fingers inside Ciel, even crooking them sadistically, glorying in the boy's pain. He was almost ready.

And with the crook of those fingers, Ciel felt what seemed to be the last of his pride disappear. Something was touched, however briefly, that sent a short spark of something through him he'd never experienced before. It was a pleasure he was sure was meant to be greater, but was dulled significantly by the pain his entire body was feeling. The seal on his fate was the small moan that came mixed into the loud cries of pain, a sound he tried to hide but that came all too soon. He clenched his legs together again in a knee jerk reaction and his back arched once more so his chest was off the bed. He made one last feeble attempt to scramble across the sheets away from Selwin but found his legs in too much pain to kick and his arms still pinned. He didn't want to submit, he didn't want to lay there and take it, but that's all he could do. So he did, tears and sobs and cries of pain exiting him as he did.

Selwin laughed softly to himself. _Such responsive prey. Worth every penny indeed..._

When Selwin was satisfied that he had prepared the boy sufficiently, he slowly removed both fingers from him. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, and then proceeded to reposition Ciel's arms, straightening them and pinning them to the boy's sides on the bed, one wrist in each hand. Then, he kicked Ciel's legs apart.

With a wicked smile, holding tightly to Ciel's wrists, Selwin slid himself slowly inside his prey.

Ciel tried to control his sobs as he was repositioned and felt his legs open up again. He knew what was coming, knew Selwin was much bigger than just two fingers. He buried his face in the blankets to muffle the scream he let out as he felt himself being split open. The burn was almost equivalent to the branding iron, but this was an ache as well as a burn, and a sting. He could feel his skin tearing, a small stream of fresh blood running down his thigh. This was different than any torture or any mistreatment he'd been given and would be given in the future. And to know that this man had known and hated his father, and had paid money for him like some slave, or something other than a human being, he felt utterly humiliated, used, and alone. He again tried to think of Cyril, alone in the cage, probably cold, being prodded at by the other cultists. He hoped to God this wasn't happening to Cyril in some other room of the house as well.

Selwin sighed contentedly, feeling the welcome resistance that Ciel's tight hot passage provided to his length. He garnered tremendous satisfaction from the blood that was now dripping down the leg of his toy. This was one of the reasons why he loved children; they always bled, and Selwin thoroughly enjoyed drawing blood from his victims. This, and the cries and screams that were brought forth as a result, gave him a rush unlike any other. The boy was absolutely beautiful like this, and he was all his. He would seal him into his memory for all time, and Selwin would proudly take his place as the one who broke the last of the Phantomhive Watchdogs.

Selwin withdrew himself slightly, almost pulling out completely, and then thrust himself forward, pulling Ciel's wrists backwards to help push himself deeper.

Ciel cried out at every thrust, loudly, trying to muffle his screams into the blanket. He felt Selwin fall into a rhythm, and each rough thrust caused that tear in him to bleed more.

"Please!" He screamed at one point, when the pain became too much. "Stop!" He hated this, hated begging. He hadn't given up yet. He would still fight, he still had his pride, but in this moment he wanted the pain to stop. He would not be broken until he laid there silently and just took it.

Selwin continued relentlessly, his nails digging into Ciel's wrists as he neared his climax. Every cry, every scream that escaped his victim served as fuel for further torment. When Ciel began to beg him to stop, he thrust deeper with renewed fervor. _Yes, beg some more, my little watchpup. Beg your master for mercy..._

Selwin was close. He was nearly there...and then, he buried himself all the way within, forcing a delicious scream from the child. He came, pulling Ciel's wrists so far back that the boy's head and chest remained off of the bed for a moment as he filled the boy up. Selwin rode out the wave of his orgasm, taking note of his prey's tortured expression before finally releasing Ciel's wrists and letting his chest fall back onto the bed. He leaned forward on his hands, pressing his weight into the bed and panting heavily, head down, staring at the beautiful back of his toy, now glistening with sweat, his length still inside him.

Ciel laid on the bed, finally bringing his arms up to rest his hands near his head now that they were released from his previous and compromising position. They were so sore from being held back that putting them forward hurt, but also came as a relief. He let sobs still wrack his body, thighs trembling from the muscles being used and stretched apart, back and arms twitching and shaking as well. His shoulders shook with sobs that filled a very small space of the large room; the small space that was Ciel Phantomhive.

Bright red blood ran down his creamy white legs and down to the floor. He was dizzy, from pain and slight blood loss, and his head pounded from screaming and crying. He wanted Selwin out, and wiggled his hips as he sobbed desperately, trying to pull away from the length still buried deep inside him. But all this did was stretch his worn hole more, causing more blood and more damage and more pain. He could feel the liquid filling him up settling inside him. He wanted another bath, he wanted the gentleness of the maid now that he had been hurt so. The healing skin of his brand now permanently held a bend from Selwin's thumbprint. He'd pressed so hard against the raw and forming skin that the dip in the brand would now stay there forever. His hair was tousled, face red and tears streaming down his cheeks. He wanted out, he wanted Selwin out, he wanted away. He wanted to go back to the cage, back to Cyril, back to his brother who he could hold and who would hold him and let him cry. Back to the stone floor which was cold but would allow him sleep. He needed that now.

Selwin leaned over the sobbing child one more time, running his fingers through the boy's hair, then moving his hand down and grabbing the back of his neck.

"I hope you enjoyed that," he whispered closely. "We should do it again sometime. You scream so beautifully...No matter who touches you from this point forward, always remember, you belong to me," Selwin said as he ran his fingers once more over the stinging brand on the child's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selwin takes Ciel from behind after a short session of torture where he cracks two of Ciel's ribs. We discover Selwin used to run an underground human trafficking ring which was shut down by Ciel's father, Vincent. Selwin is taking out his vendetta on Ciel, who is technically the current Watchdog.


	8. What Words Cannot Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Missing - Evanescence  
> • I Want You Here - Plumb  
> • Fight Inside - RED

Selwin finally pulled himself slowly out of the boy, leaving behind a bloody void. He walked away from Ciel and began to clean himself up, putting on his trousers and belt before going over to the refreshments, helping himself to some strawberries and whiskey. He glanced back at the bed, his prey lying facedown in a pool of moonlight, and took a drink.

Ciel was too tired and in pain to move, so he stayed bent over the bed, resting, just laying there. He didn't know what to do with himself, other than to wait and see what would happen. But the last words Selwin said struck a nerve. He didn't belong to anybody. He had been used, slightly broken, but he was still a proud Phantomhive. He lifted his head wearily from the blankets and whispered to himself. "I don't..." He trembled, like the weight of his head was too much to bear, and laid back down on the bed, fists now unclenched and everything relaxed. Everything was silent. He no longer cried, but did whimper when he felt Selwin's release slowly trickle out of him, mixing with the blood.

Selwin sat down on the bed near the nightside table with his glass of whiskey, his body relaxing as he came down from his high. He pondered the boy before him, who was facing away from him. He had gone silent, his sobs having subsided. He wouldn't have known the boy was alive if he hadn't seen the rise and fall of his back with his steady breathing. Selwin wondered if he really had broken the proud Phantomhive. He had screamed, he had cried, he had submitted, told him what he wanted to hear...but was he broken? Selwin was not certain, but there would be other times, other opportunities to be sure, and for now, Selwin's vendetta against the late Watchdog was fulfilled. He had taken his eldest son, he alone left his mark on him, and the boy was certainly no longer a threat, if he ever had been. Selwin smiled inwardly, and drank his whiskey.

An unknown amount of time passed. Selwin considered other ways he could have fun with the child, but the boy seemed in no condition to respond in any way that would be satisfying. He had much experience, and knew that his enjoyment would be cut by half at this point. A bell sounded outside the bedroom door, signaling that his time was up. The maids would come in, clean the boy up a bit, and return him to his cage, to join his brother _._

_His brother..._

Selwin considered the twin brother for a moment. He didn't know much about him besides the fact that he was slightly younger, weaker than Ciel, and also the son of that Watchdog bastard...and still a virgin.

 _No..._ he thought. _Someone else can have him...he's probably not as fun anyway...however, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy him in other ways, especially ways that will make this one squirm..._ He glanced at the exhausted boy on the bed, illuminated only by the rising moon, and smiled at the prospect.

Selwin stood and went to the door. He picked up a nearby ottoman, stood on it to get to the key on the top of the armoire, and unlocked the door to let the maids and assistants inside.

Ciel heard the door unlock, but was still too tired and mentally gone for the moment to respond to it. He felt he didn't even have the strength or tolerance to the pain to lift himself up. He heard people walk into the room behind him, and couldn't even find the will to be embarrassed at how he appeared, naked and laid out, bleeding and taken from behind.

The hands he felt on him were female. They lifted him under his arms and stood him up, still in the room with Selwin. He was held up like a rag doll, with his arms and head limp. A single damp cloth had been allowed to the maids, so little compared to the full bath he'd had before. He felt his sweat wiped off his brow and back, revelling shortly in the gentleness. The drying come was wiped gently from the back of his thighs and from his bottom, but not enough clean space remained on the cloth to clean him completely from the blood that ran down his legs and bare cheek from Selwin's fingernails. He allowed himself to finally be dressed back into his dirty clothes. The maids let him stand on his own, and one held his hand to lead him back. He didn't look up, no strength left in him to, and took a step forward.

Pain, blinding pain. He couldn't step forward, his muscles and wounds screaming at him. He nearly collapse but was caught by one of the women, and the other helped to carry him back to the cellar door.

"We're sorry, love." He heard whispered to him. "We leave you here." They weren't allowed in the cellar. One of the men from before led him back down by the hair, forcing him to walk, half crawl, back to his cage.

It was early in the morning, at least three, but none of the children knew that. He was met with looks and small cheers and jests when he was led back into the main altar room with the cages. He could hear odd comments.

"Look at the proud Phantomhive..."

"Some Watchdog, eh?"

"Who's the lucky bastard that had 'im?"

He picked up his head to look toward the cage and gasped. Cyril was still there; they hadn't taken him out, but they had seemed to notice his own absence. He almost helped the man in dragging him back when he clambered toward the bars. The door was unlocked and he rushed himself inside, not having to be forced, and heard the door slam behind him.

The cage was like protection. While they were in here, it meant they weren't being used, or tortured. He heard men laughing, the few that had been paying attention to him, as they watched him accept the cage. He felt humiliated. He hugged his knees to his chest, and fell to his side, not able to sit down properly, and felt the cold floor press against his burning and aching back. It felt nice. He stretched his hand out for Cyril.

"Brother," he almost begged.

“Ciel!” He had felt an intense wave of relief when he saw that Ciel was alive.  He had been worrying himself sick for hours, thinking of all of the horrible possibilities his imagination could fathom…

Cyril crawled over to his brother, immediately noticing that something was different about his twin, and he could tell that he was in a lot of pain. Cyril held his hand, his eyes wide and concerned.

“Brother…” Cyril began shakily.  He was almost afraid to ask the question.  The look in his twin’s eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen.  They reflected shock and horror, confusion and misery beyond reckoning, and a few other things Cyril couldn’t quite name.  His energy was also different.  The Phantomhive twins had been together since before they were born and each was very familiar with the aura the other gave off.  But now…it was almost as though his twin was a completely different person. He wanted very much to know what had happened to his brother so that he could help him, but at the same time, he was scared to know, fearful that the telling might cause even more damage.

“Ciel…” he began again. “Are you alright?  What happened?”

Ciel looked up at his brother and wanted to reach for him, but flashes of Selwin came to him. The words he'd spoken about Cyril, what he'd been doing when Ciel had pictured his brother with him. He could still feel the pain, the bleeding stopped for now but the burn was still present. He scrambled away a few feet to the other side of the cage, as a reaction, tears starting to stream down his eyes. Hadn't he just wanted his brother's comfort a minute ago? He winced as he moved, any movement causing pain. He was so tired. The blood that had dripped down his legs could be seen, and as he looked at Cyril's face the sobs came in earnest and he scrambled again, but this time towards his brother despite the pain, and hugged him around his waist. His face pressed into Cyril's chest and he cried; he cried all the tears he'd cried in the bedroom with Selwin, all the guilt about Cyril not escaping, all the mourning for their parents. He cried as hard as he could until he couldn't, his voice still raw.

Cyril was confused at first, when his brother had pulled away from him, wondering what could possibly make his twin behave in such a way. But when he crawled back and clung to him in earnest, sobs wracking his body, Cyril could only hold him; hold him close and never let go. He was reminded of the night of their abduction, on the floor of that carriage, where the roles had been reversed, and Ciel had been holding him as Cyril wept, expressing what words could not. At that time, Cyril could not possibly voice that their parents and dog had been killed, and he had seen their bloody bodies. Some things are simply too horrible to put words to. And as Cyril cradled his sobbing twin, rocking him gently back and forth, he deduced that something similar had occurred here...something too terrible to voice. Tears formed in Cyril's eyes as he looked upon his brother's tortured face, which bore a pain far too great for such a small frame.

The sound of Ciel's sobs had traveled throughout the great stone chamber. The other children watched from within their cages, the older ones with silent tears streaming down their faces. Cyril looked up and met a few of their glances. There was understanding and sympathy in their eyes. Did they know?

 _Of course,_ he thought. _Whatever happened to brother has probably happened before...maybe even to them..._

Cyril didn't know what to do, so he stopped thinking and focused on his brother. He needed him now more than ever. Like Ciel had told them on the way to this wretched place, they needed to keep their wits about them if they were ever going to escape from here. Ciel needed to be able to move forward from whatever horror he had suffered, so whatever his brother needed, Cyril would give it to him. He would hold him close, massage his aching muscles, and whisper words of comfort for as long as he needed to.

Cyril moved a hand up to his brother's head, gently smoothing his hair, while his other arm held him around his back.

"I'm right here," he croaked out through his tears. "We still have each other. We'll get through this, together."

Ciel hated this. He was supposed to be the strong one and take care of his brother. He wasn't supposed to be the one breaking down. But the pain and the trauma was all but too much to handle. He clutched the fabric at the front of Cyril's shirt with one hand while the other wrapped around the younger's waist, his head still pressed against his chest. After several minutes his sobs died down to just occasional hiccups and tears. He was surprised the cultists hadn't said anything to them.

 _The cultists..._ Ciel realized suddenly whatever had happened to him would happen to Cyril at some point. He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't. He had to do everything in his power to make sure that during their time here, however long it was, that he kept Cyril's suffering to the minimum. Even if that meant volunteering for something in his place.

Cyril continued to cradle his brother as his sobs faded away. While he had wept, Cyril had noticed the dried blood on his twin's legs and wondered where it had come from. He also took note that brother's wrists had harsh black and blue bruises forming on them, joining the chafed skin from the ropes that had bound them before. Someone had abused his brother to this terrible state, and Cyril felt a stab of rage at whoever was responsible.

"Brother, who did this to you?" his voice shaking. "Who hurt you?"

They were interrupted by the sound of voices chanting. They were coming closer, entering the grand chamber. Torches were lit, making the dim room a little brighter. Steadily, a large group of cultists filed into the circular chamber, all wearing masks and cloaks. Cyril's heart began to pound in his chest. What was going to happen now?

Pryor, the leader of ceremonies, who had led the branding of the twin boys the night before, spoke to the group as the rest of the cultists continued to chant.

"Gather 'round, everyone! Tonight's ceremony is about to begin!"

Ciel heard the man's voice and shuddered, moving to the back of the cage despite the pain and pressing his back against it, half curled into a ball. He tugged on Cyril's shirt to pull him closer so they were both huddled in the back of the cage. Ciel's body was slightly in front of his brother's, still protecting him despite being beaten, bruised, and traumatized. It was the one thing left he could hold onto.

Pryor's announcements were met with cheers and the men gathered around the altar and the cages, all talking and chattering quietly, different from the mingling before. Ciel wondered if they'd pull a child out of the cages, and if it would be him.

Some of the cultists stood on the circular floor in the center of the room, where there were various ancient designs drawn for some unknown purpose, while others sat and watched from the stone benches that stair-stepped upward like an amphitheater.

The cultists standing in formation in the center around the altar began to chant anew, getting gradually louder. After a few minutes, Pryor spoke again over the others.

"Our Dark King! Your disciples honor you tonight, and we present you with a grand gift!"

The children who had not already moved to the backs of their cages scurried backwards at the cult leader's words, their eyes wide with fear.

"We sacrifice to you, noble beast, a beautiful young lamb!"

As Pryor spoke, the two rough men in charge of moving the children in and out of the cages approached the cage to the boys' right. There were several children inside, all of whom let out cries of fright as they packed closely together, trying to avoid the man who opened the cage door. He grabbed one of the youngest children, a girl of about five years with blonde hair that probably had once caught the sun beautifully, but had now been dirtied by harsh treatment and conditions. She screamed as an older girl, about twelve years old, held onto her tightly.

"Nooo!!! Please!! Please not her!"

Ciel saw them dragging the girl away and gasped, holding Cyril close to him. The little girl was kicking and screaming as she was taken to the table, the cultists still chanting. They held her down, four of them, each holding a flailing limb.

Pryor was handed a long dagger by Selwin, and Ciel realized what was going to happen. He placed his hands over Cyril's eyes but he himself couldn't look away. The knife was raised high over the man's head and he brought it down directly to the girl's chest, piercing through skin and bone until the tip seemed to touch the altar below. There was cheering as the girl shouted and cough blood, slowing down until finally she stopped moving, eyes wide open, blood dripping from the altar to the floor. Ciel shut his eyes right after the girl died and hugged Cyril. How often did they do this? And how long would it be until one of them was chosen?

The sounds that met Cyril's ears were a strange mix of cheering and clapping from the cultists and screaming and banging on the cages by the children. When he could see what was happening again, the twelve year old girl in the cage next to them was in hysterics, the other children trying to calm her down. He glanced back at the altar, which was dripping with blood. He gasped and turned away and buried his face in his brother's chest, realizing the girl had been killed. Why? Why had these people done this?

As he hugged Ciel close, Cyril began to seriously fear for he and his brother's lives. It was clear that these people were in the business of abusing and killing children, some even younger than they were, and worshipping someone they called 'Dark King' and 'Noble Beast'. The boys had been branded in this being's name. Was this the cultists' motivation for causing all this misery? Whatever it was, it didn't seem like he or his twin or any of the other children could do anything about it. Absolutely nothing. These people were not going to change. They needed to come up with a way to escape and keep each other alive in the meantime. But how? Any attempt at escape seemed hopeless. Cyril's fear overtook him and his breaths began to come fast and sharp, panic filling his chest, choking him.

Ciel had been in shock for a moment until he heard Cyril begin to hyperventilate. He looked down at his brother and took his face into his hands, looking at him.

"Ssh ssh, ssh," Ciel began, keeping Cyril facing away from the bloody altar. "Slow down. Look at me, Cyril." He sounded so much older, like a parent. Like Rachel...

"Slow your breathing...don't make yourself sick." He rubbed one hand over Cyril's chest to comfort him and keep his airways clear. "We're fine."

As he spoke those words, he felt the pain from his recent abuse. The pains and the spasms. He wasn't okay, not one hundred percent, but he needed to care for Cyril. There was no one left to do it for them anymore.


	9. Spectacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Dance of Death - Andrew Bird  
> • Hell Is For Children

Cyril's mind was racing so much with all of his fears and doubts that he almost didn't realize he was allowing his asthma to take control. His brother's calming words brought him back to the present. He focused on Ciel's face, stained with dirt, bruises, and tears, but it was the caring face of his brother, and it was the most beautiful and welcome thing in the world to him in this moment. Cyril let out a soft cry and let himself sink into his brother's embrace, willing his breathing to even out.

The cultists began to disperse and many of the torches in the circular hall were extinguished, plunging the room into near total darkness. The boys hoped that this meant the cultists were finished for the night. Over the next several minutes, no one approached any of the cages, and the boys began to relax a little. They held each other close, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The next few days passed in a haze of exhaustion, pain, and hunger. Ciel and Cyril did their utmost to conserve their energy, despite countless interruptions to their sleep, thanks to the various depraved activities of their captors. When the boys did find sleep, it was haunted by nightmares of the torment they had already suffered, and the fear of what was to come. With the light in the dark underground chamber never changing, the days blended together, and with each passing hour, it became difficult to distinguish their waking hours from their night terrors.

The children were given water and force-fed the same unidentifiable slop once a day. Gagging on it every time, the twin boys wondered if they would ever get used to it. It would fill them up for a little while, but it was wholly unsatisfying, a world apart from the three delicious meals a day they were accustomed to. Their shackles chafed their skin more and more each day, impossible to make the steel cuffs rest on their ankles any more comfortably.

 

At the end of their first week, or what they assumed was since they had no way of keeping time, the twins were approached by two cultists who came into the chamber early, just as Selwin had done. One was a shorter, stockier looking fellow, the other a bit taller but muscular and intimidating with dark features and narrow brows. The two boys glanced up from their position in the cage, leaning on each other for support.

“Alright, you two beauties are all ours for a little while,” said the first, leaning over the cage to look down on the two. Ciel’s mind took a moment to process what this meant, and remembered his vow to protect Cyril at all costs, keeping him out of the clutches of Selwin or any other cultist who dared touch him.

“Lucky,” the second said, elbowing the other. “You get the right pretty one just because you’ve got a bit more money to spare.”

“Not my fault you have a wife with expensive taste back home.”

The elder child perked up a bit at the conversation as Cyril cowered further into his older brother, not quite understanding the fate he was in danger of experiencing. He tried to think of an excuse, or a compromise, fast. He’d undergo anything to keep these two away from Cyril.

“You know,” he said, slowly, hoping his tone came off a bit more measured than he thought it did, voice shaking. He reached up to hold the bars of the cage, one hand higher than the other. “You could always…share me.”

The words felt like lumps that he tried desperately to force out of his throat and not swallow down into the depths of his stomach. The thought sickened and terrified him, having to go through the same that he’d gone through with Selwin another two times, but it meant Cyril would not have to, and hopefully never would.

“What was that?” The second man asked, his face looking down at Ciel with interest but hesitation.

“If you can’t pay to have me yourself…” He slid one hand down the bar, hoping it would hide the evident shaking of his hands. “You can always share. You get me for half the cost, and don’t have to settle. It’s advantageous for both of you, isn’t it?”

The two men looked between each other in thought. Both men ended up taking only Ciel, leaving Cyril behind in the cage to share what they believed the better twin since the first could barely afford the steep price that came with his use. They were more than happy to smuggle the heir past the master of the estate to have the older for a lower rate. Ciel returned from the room of his most recent proprietors, eyes more blank than before, blood once again running down his legs which were barely able to hold up his weight.

When Ciel had been taken out of the cage by the two men, Cyril's curiosity had overpowered him, and he looked inward, relaxed his mind, and saw through his brother's eyes briefly. Horrified by what he saw, Cyril tried to block the disturbing images and the intense emotions his brother was feeling, but now there was no shutting them out completely. Cyril didn't have a word for what their captors were doing to Ciel. All he knew was that it terrified him and he could only imagine how painful it was. Cyril could not believe Ciel had so bravely volunteered in his stead, now fully understanding what his twin was suffering for him. It all but broke his heart.

At what was also the end of the first week, another child was killed. This time another girl, older than the last with dark hair and green eyes. She looked foreign, and Ciel wondered who was missing her, and who would never see her again.

After every ceremony the altar was left bloody until a frightened looking maid was sent down after the cultists had left to hurriedly clean the table and floor surrounding it, and rushed back upstairs, no matter how many children called for her.

 

Dusk was approaching, signaled by the arrival of the cultists into the underground chamber and surrounding hallways. Many of them were chatting excitedly. The torches were lit, brightening the room so that many faces were thrown into relief.  The children in the cages tensed and held their breaths, many holding onto each other for support.

"Everyone in a circle, please!" Selwin's voice called out. As everyone assembled, Selwin strode to the center of the circle and spoke. Pryor, the leader of ceremonies, stood in the innermost circle, looking amused.

"As most of you have likely heard, we have a special show for you tonight. We know you're all dying to have some fun with our latest arrivals but have not been...able to have a chance."

Some disgruntled murmuring rippled throughout the crowd.

"Well that all changes tonight," Selwin continued with a grin. "You are in for a real treat.  Bring him out, Barnard."

One of the now familiar husky men walked over to the cage that held the twins.

The twins were backed against the wall of the cage like the other children, but Ciel knew this would be another day he'd save Cyril. He had to. So when the man unlocked the cage and began to reach inside, Ciel loosened his grip on Cyril with a forced straight face and crawled forward. Instead of letting the man grab him, he took his hand. The man named Barnard looked surprised, but helped lead Ciel out of the cage, and locked the door behind him, leaving Cyril alone once again.

It might've been him they wanted all along anyway. He was still the Earl, he was still the Watchdog. He still held the blue ring in his stomach and had swallowed it twice more after the first time. He didn't want Cyril to have it, in case the men found out about it and tried to retrieve it. But they'd spoken about taking turns so there was only so long Ciel could hold his brother off. He was led to the center of the room, every single person watching quietly as the nobleman went willingly into the middle of the lion's den.

Ciel and Selwin now faced each other in the center of the underground arena, the bloodstained stone altar between them, surrounded by cloaked onlookers. Even though he was no longer restrained, any chance of escape was slim. Even if he somehow fought his way through the crowd of cultists, he would still have to outrun them going up the spiral staircase, find a way out of the potentially locked door at the top, and avoid the rest of the people on the ground floor before he could even hope to reach the main exit. And Cyril would still be trapped down here...

"How kind of you to join us so willingly, watchpup," sneered Selwin, his voice reverberating around the large room. Some of the onlookers snickered. "You are either very dignified or very obedient."

Selwin flexed his fingers at his side and then took a few measured steps to his left.

Ciel stayed very still, hands by his sides, eyes locked on Selwin's body, unable to look the man who first took him in the eyes or the face. But he wanted to keep track of where he was. He didn't answer. He could hear Cyril's worry, out loud and in his mind. He clenched his fists, wanting to block it out. He couldn't do this with Cyril's protests. And he wouldn't cry, not in front of everybody. He'd stopped crying after Selwin, when it was proven it was no use and it wouldn't get him anywhere.

Cyril had crawled forward, the chain from his shackle dragging behind him, to the front of the cage. He marveled at the bravery of his twin, but he worried about what Selwin had in mind for this little show. Ciel had already endured so much and the thought of him taking any more pain clawed at his heart. The only reassurance he had was that the cultists probably were not planning to kill him, small consolation though it was.

Selwin looked Ciel up and down as he slowly made his way over to the boy, walking around the altar. He undressed him in his mind, believing that only he had had the pleasure of seeing that tender flesh completely exposed. When their eyes met for the briefest of moments, Selwin licked his lips.

Ciel immediately looked back down, shuddering when he met Selwin's eyes but still standing straight and tall. He wondered what they'd do to him, and if it would be fast so he could lay back down in the cage and sleep. He'd been sleeping a lot more. He was so tired, his body trying to heal him from the pain and traumatized mind shielding him from the outside world. He could hear the whisperings of the men around him.

As Selwin closed the gap that remained between himself and Ciel, he addressed the crowd again: "The Phantomhives have always placed themselves on quite the pedestal, thinking they can control the underworld, tell us what to do, deal with us in their own special way when we don't follow their rules. The Queen's loyal bootlickers..."

There was some laughter among the crowd.

"Well, not anymore," said Selwin as he turned once more towards Ciel. "You never got a chance to lick the Queen's boots, my little watchpup, but you needn't fret. You can lick my boots."

More laughter erupted from the crowd as Selwin stopped mere feet from the child.

"Go on, boy. Get on all fours like the dog you are, and lick them." Selwin smirked, thoroughly enjoying himself already, gazing intensely at the boy's face.

Ciel clenched his fists and eyes shut. He had been through too much. He'd gotten to the point of just laying there and taking it the last week, but to be made to do something willingly was too much to ask the proud boy in this moment. He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling.  He didn't look at Selwin, he didn't move, didn't speak. If he was meant to be a spectacle, might as well make it entertaining, and he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Selwin saw the child tense as he stood his ground. The boy's pride was definitely getting in the way. Selwin considered just getting on with it until an idea occurred to him that would drag the torment out just a little longer. He bent down from the waist a little so that his face was level with Ciel's just mere inches away. Ciel still didn't look him in the eyes.

"Are you _quite_  sure you want to disobey me, Ciel?" Selwin muttered softly. "Perhaps..." he paused for a moment to look to his left at the place where Cyril watched from the cage. "...we should bring your brother out here to join in the fun. What do you think, watchpup?" he said, enjoying his own sadistic game.

Ciel's eyes widened and he looked up finally to meet Selwin's eyes, dread filling him. "No!" He said frantically, shaking his head.

Selwin gave a smug smile, the fear in the boy's eyes giving him a rush of triumph. He leaned a little closer, and his next words came out in a whisper. "Then you'd best get your pretty little mouth down there."

Selwin patted the side of Ciel's head in mock affection and then straightened up. Ciel flinched, remembering what else Selwin had had him use his mouth for. He wished he had bit him, but also was glad he hadn't, he'd probably be in an even worse situation. He gulped, not looking back at Cyril, before he knelt slowly, then leaned down with his hands supporting him, and came face to face with the toe of Selwin's boot. He half expected him to kick him in the face, but knew if he was going to, he wouldn't do it until he'd gotten what he wanted. Ciel opened his mouth and stuck out his small, pink tongue before running it along the leather, face scrunching in disgust.

Many of the cultists standing in the circle shifted to get a better view as Ciel got down on the stone floor, some of them already snickering. Cyril watched from the cage in disgust, his fists clenched around the metal bars, wanting so badly to wrap his fingers around Selwin's throat. He didn't know what Selwin had muttered to his brother, but knew from the older man's glance that it had had something to do with him. It sickened him that his brother was going through this, but desperately prayed that the humiliation did not go further. His hopes were dashed less than a second later.

As soon as Selwin saw the boy's lovely tongue run across his boot, he gave a wicked smile.

"Good boy," he said, and then quickly used his other foot to stomp on the boy's fingers on his right hand, and did not raise it back up.

Ciel gave a quiet cry of pain, fingers on the other hand clenching against the stone floor as a reaction, making his fingernails bleed. But he didn't want to be hurt worse, or god forbid Cyril get hurt. He kept licking, slow hesitant lashes of his tongue, body shaking a bit from the newly inflicted pain he was trying to ignore.

After he felt he'd done an adequate job, he looked up at Selwin, blue eyes big with innocence. He'd been in this position before; maybe if he just did as Selwin wanted like he'd wanted that night, Cyril wouldn't get hurt, he'd be safe in the cage. He kept his gaze locked with Selwin, back arched, remembering their first night together and repressing a shudder.

When Selwin's foot came down, Cyril gasped while several cultists laughed and cheered. However, no one, especially Selwin, expected the child to keep licking despite the pain. Selwin was so shocked when the boy continued his work on the boot that he didn't know how to react at first. He supposed he was impressed. But when the boy looked up at him with those big blue eyes, something was stirred deep within him. The boy was so eager to please despite his humiliation. Why? He had been so proud just a moment ago. And then it hit him: he wasn't doing this for him. He was doing this for his brother. His twin was his weakness of course, but he was also his greatest strength. He only obeyed Selwin when there seemed to be a promise that his brother would not be hurt; otherwise, his pride remained steadfast and strong. That meant that as long as Ciel had his brother to protect, the child could never truly be broken...Selwin realized this as the boy gazed up at him, and it angered him greatly.

Selwin stared at the boy with a blank expression, lost in those eyes for a moment and then lost in his rage. He took a deep breath, reached out a shaking hand, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair.

"You've done well," he said, his voice shaking with barely contained wrath.

Selwin pressed down mercilessly with his foot onto Ciel's fingers until he heard a snap. He then grabbed a fistful of Ciel's hair and threw him roughly to the floor. Then he finally lifted his boot up and gave the boy a swift kick to the midriff. Cyril's cries of protest could be heard from the cage while the crowd got excited.

Ciel gave a short scream as his fingers broke and he was thrown, which died in his throat when he was kicked, the wind knocked out of him. He curled around his stomach and started coughing, or tried to, but he couldn't breathe. He couldn't help but wonder if this is how Cyril felt when he was sick. He stayed down, waiting for instructions or for the next blow.

 “Brother!!” yelled Cyril, his face pressed up against the bars, desperate to help, to fight, anything…

Selwin paced back and forth before Ciel’s crumpled form, the cloaked onlookers encouraging the violence.

“Get up!  Go on, son of the Watchdog! Defend yourself!” shouted Selwin, knowing that the simple action he was commanding of the boy would cause ample pain in itself.

Ciel didn't know what to do. If he fought back, he'd surely be punished. But if he didn't defend himself, he was disobeying. Selwin confused him, it hurt him, his head was pounding. He got up on one elbow to support himself with the pain in his ribs, and stared up almost defiantly at Selwin.

Selwin met the boy's gaze as he looked up at him with fire in his eyes.  Defiance mingled with the pain in the child’s face.

“What’s the matter?” Selwin asked in a mocking tone, as he continued to pace around the boy.  “Is that all the pretty little watchpup can take?  You’re _boring_!  Boring and weak, just like your father!”

There was a fresh uproar of cheers and boos from the gathered cultists, some of them shouting various insults to the child, as well as colorful suggestions to Selwin. Ciel felt his ribs give another stab of pain and wrapped one arm around his waist, trying to help it. He kept looking at Selwin, no matter where he was around him.

"Stop it!" He said, voice coming out thick with aggression and pain. So he was boring? He knew it then. Selwin wanted a show for himself and the other cultists. If he wasn't entertaining enough they'd bring Cyril out. He couldn't let that happen. He didn't care how bad it got, he knew they wouldn't kill him. He had to be interesting. "Don't talk about my father!"

"Oho!  So the pup _does_  know how to speak! I must have hit a nerve," said Selwin, looking around at the crowd and cracking his knuckles. “And why shouldn’t I?” Selwin asked, turning back to Ciel.  “Everyone here knows the kind of cowardly son of a bitch he was!”

More cheers from the onlookers.

“But I suppose you have a point, watchpup.  We should not speak ill of the _dead_ ,” Selwin taunted, stroking his chin in mock thoughtfulness.

Ciel didn't want to cry in front of everybody, his pride slowly slipping as tears threatened to fall anyway and his voice choked up. "Stop it..." He tried again, but to no avail. It came out a low sob and he looked at the stone floor, not knowing what to do. He was in so much pain; dare he stand up and face Selwin? He had to. If he just sat there, they could hurt Cyril. Determination etched into his face, Ciel helped himself up with his good hand, one arm still wrapped around his midriff. He was shaking, barely standing, he could hardly breathe with the pain in his ribs, but he stood tall.

Selwin and the surrounding cultists snickered at the child’s sobs, but then promptly ceased as soon as he began to stand up.  A few even cheered him on, but Ciel knew that they were only giving him encouragement to stand so that they could see him fall again.

There Ciel stood, and for a few moments, he and Selwin simply stared at one another.  Selwin had to admire the boy’s fortitude.  Even when battered and bruised, he was beautiful, and he would never be his…

Yes, the boy had said he belonged to him, but that was only because Selwin had forced it out of him.  He didn’t really believe it, and Selwin could tell.  The nobleman had taken the innocence of many children prior to Ciel, claimed ownership of each of them, whether they had given in or not, and Selwin had been satisfied. But Ciel Phantomhive, the proud son of the Watchdog of the Queen, was different.  He could not simply claim him and leave it at that. It wasn’t enough…

Selwin took a few steps forward, and in one fluid movement, he grabbed Ciel’s left arm and twisted it behind the boy’s back while he drew a sharp letter opener from his vest pocket with his right hand, and brought it around the front of the boy, pressing it to the side of his neck.  A few members of the cult gasped while others cheered.

“No!!” Cyril shouted, reaching out through the bars, thinking the worst was about to happen. “Please!!”  He couldn’t lose his brother, not here, not like this.  He would break without him.  He would die without him.

Selwin held Ciel close to him, gripping his arm tightly behind his back.  Ciel could feel Selwin’s breath on the back of his neck.

“You’re strong, I’ll give you that,” Selwin muttered.  “But I’m a patient man, and there is still so much you can lose…”

Selwin glanced over Ciel’s cheek at Cyril’s desperate face from within the cage and then whispered into his prey’s ear.

“You can’t protect him forever, you know,” he said, pressing the sharp blade into the soft flesh, a small trickle of blood running down the child’s neck.

Ciel gave a cry of pain, half choked as his arm was twisted. The other hand grasped his ribs with broken, crooked fingers. His breathing came out in sharp, shaky pants and he flinched away from Selwin's voice, causing the knife to go deeper, widening the cut. He gasped, terrified he'd sealed his own fate, but the cut wasn't wide enough to kill him. He felt blood trickle down his neck, his chest, and soak into his shirt in short dribbles. At the sound of Cyril's cry the tears began to fall anew, but without sounds. He didn't sob. When Selwin spoke again about his brother, he closed his eyes tightly, ready for the next blow or swipe of the blade.

Selwin felt the child tremble, along with the fresh tears that fell on the hand that held the knife. The rush of power and control he felt was intoxicating, a feeling he would never tire of. He dipped his head down to where Ciel’s hair met his neck, and inhaled deeply.  The smell of blood and dirt, along with the boy’s natural scent, filled his nostrils. Feeling bold, he relinquished his grip on Ciel’s arm and groped down his back. He didn’t care if the others protested; he wasn’t going to pay such a steep price for the child again, so he thought he should get his fondles in while he had the boy close.  He reached beneath the waistband of Ciel’s shorts and ran his cold fingers over the boy’s bottom.

Ciel flinched his hips away, careful of the blade still on his throat. He had things he wanted to say to Selwin, he might as well say them if he was meant to put on a show.

"You've touched me enough!" He said fiercely, but not loudly, sniffling to stop his tears. He could tell by the reactions of the crowd and Selwin that he was doing a good job being distracting. He didn't have the boldness quite yet, but he wanted to step behind himself and stomp on Selwin's foot. He wanted to be entertaining, but not so disobedient that they did bring Cyril out.

Selwin gave a soft chuckle in the boy’s ear.

“Oho, my little pup, don’t you remember you don’t get to say when I stop?” said Selwin, grabbing Ciel’s left buttock hard while twisting the blade at the boy’s throat, digging a little deeper…

Ciel closed his eyes with a shaky breath, blocking out the flashbacks, the memories of when Selwin's hands rested there last. The pace, the harshness, the blood and the burning sensation that was still with him. He didn't want to be touched like that ever again. He stepped backward with all the strength his weak bones could muster and stomped on Selwin's foot, reaching up with his now free and uninjured hand to push the blade away from him while the man was unaware, his neck bleeding in a steady amount now, and stepped back from Selwin, facing him. He was bent slightly, getting dizzy from the blood loss his malnourished body couldn't handle and ready to counter Selwin's next move. He was just glad he wasn't being touched anymore like some toy. He held the sleeve on the arm of his injured hand to his neck, the thin fabric quickly turning red.

Cyril could sense his brother’s turmoil throughout the sick display and it nearly drove him mad.  _Damn these bars!  Damn these chains!  Damn Selwin and all the rest!  Let me out!!_

And then somehow, Ciel had gotten out of Selwin’s grasp. _Yes!_   he thought.  He then saw the blood dripping from Ciel’s neck and prayed that it wasn’t too serious an injury.

Selwin drew a sharp intake of breath as his foot was stomped on. The spectators were cheering, entertained by the show, shouting over each other.  The boy had gotten away, for the moment, but Selwin was in pursuit, knife in hand at his side. He had regained his composure and smiled as he approached Ciel. The boy could only get so far…

“Quite clever, pup.  Clever…and foolish.”

"Don't touch me!" Ciel said, with a little more volume. "I'm done with people touching me here!"

Some of the other children in the cages were crying, or looking scared. They thought Ciel would get killed; none of them had ever stood up to the men like this. With this type of behavior, they assumed he'd be the next one put on the altar. A young lamb, and another mouth that talks back to get rid of.

Ciel kept standing, still bleeding and still with his wrist and shirt pressed against his neck. He was getting a little dizzier and swayed once to the side, regaining his slight loss of balance. What else could Selwin do besides kill him? Little did he know...

Some of the cultists laughed at the boy’s display of defiance, but many were stunned.  Most children didn’t fight back like this, especially after being seriously injured.  Selwin was only mildly surprised.  It was to be expected of Phantomhive’s son. But everything the boy had said and done was fuel for his punishment…and Selwin had already thought up the perfect penalty.

“Such a fiery little watchpup,” said Selwin, amused. He saw the boy stumble and knew he was getting close to exhaustion. He would not be entertaining for much longer. It was time to bring the spectacle to a close. “But your time is up.”

Selwin quickened his pace as the boy backed away.  He tossed the blade up and caught it on the butt of the knife. When he reached him, he put his left arm around the boy’s back and swiftly shoved the butt of the blade into Ciel’s solar plexus. As the boy doubled over, Selwin supported his weight for a moment and murmured softly to him, so only he could hear.

“Your brother shall pay dearly for that, little one.” He then let the child fall to the floor.

“Put him back in the cage, show’s over everyone! Please resume your usual activities.”

Ciel breathed harshly, trying to catch his breath, choking and gasping and he clutched his midriff just below his chest. "No..." He gasped out. He couldn't. No, he'd tried so hard, endured all this. "No, please. I'll..." But he couldn't think of anything.

He was thrown quite roughly back into the cage, rolling over onto his back, still gasping for breath. With two cracked ribs, four broken fingers and a partially broken hand, a deep slit in his throat still bleeding, and several hits to his stomach, Ciel felt worse than he ever had. He clutched his belly, the pain and shock finally setting in. A few of the cultists watched the first few minutes he was thrown back into the cage, nearly half his shirt red with a light stain of blood. Others continued on to drinking, loudly cursing, or prodding at the other children.

Ciel began to cry again, but not sobbing. He didn't have the energy and the pain was too much. The words came out thickly, between pants.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry. so sorry." Cyril would be hurt, and it was all his fault. He shouldn't have pushed so hard. He'd never had an asthma attack before, not like his mother and brother had, but he felt as though he would at any second. Cyril crawled over to his twin’s crumpled form as soon as he was thrown back in the cage like a piece of trash.


	10. Your Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Imaginary - Evanescence (Piano Instrumental by R £D Veil)  
> • Our Solemn Hour - Within Temptation

“Brother!” Cyril wanted to hug him.  He wanted to hold him.  He wanted to heal him.  But he was afraid to even touch him, not knowing the extent of his brother’s injuries yet.  Ciel was murmuring words weakly, but Cyril could only make out ‘sorry’ and he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. “Shhh, shhh, don’t talk if it hurts, okay?”

Cyril knelt above him, moving his bangs to the sides of his forehead, Ciel’s tear-stained face screwing up against the pain. It was all Cyril could do to not cry right then.  He had to be strong for brother now.

Ciel was holding his right hand against his chest as he lay on his back so Cyril gave that his attention first.  He gently cupped his hand on the back on Ciel’s broken one, feeling the fractured bones, wishing that he could do something. Then, an idea occurring to him, he ripped a long strip of cloth from the bottom of his own shirt, and proceeded to bind the four fingers together. Ciel made pained noises as he wrapped his fingers, all the broken bones moving as he did so. Cyril tied the cloth in a small knot to hold it in place. It would have to do.

Cyril then turned his attention to the deep slit in Ciel’s neck. Some of the blood had clotted, so Cyril used his sleeve to dab at the blood that was still wet. Not knowing what else to do, he curled up next to his brother, holding onto his left arm.  He was seething with anger inside, nearly shaking, but there was little he could do about Selwin, and so he turned his attention back to his brother.  This was too much…how much more would they have to endure before this nightmare was over?

Some of the other children watched Cyril care for his brother, holding each other as the cultists steadily began to clear out. Ciel was shivering, from cold and shock and fear. His neck finally stopped bleeding and Ciel closed his eyes, no longer able to focus them on anything. He hated this, he wanted to go home. He wanted mother and father. He felt Cyril cling to him, and moved carefully so he wouldn't hurt himself, and pressed their legs together, trying to warm up. He couldn't lay on his side because his ribs hurt so much. And still muttering 'sorry', he fell into a forced uneasy sleep.

* * *

 

Cyril spent the next day taking care of his twin; helping him turn, making sure he got food and water, and helping him walk to the toilet, which consisted of a large chamber pot in one of the smaller side rooms in the basement. He convinced Ciel to let him swallow the blue ring for a while.

The boys liked the daytime, or what they assumed was daytime, when the congregation was not at the manor. During these times, it was just them, the other children, and the men responsible for feeding and taking the children out of the cages. These men were rough, but at least they didn't go out of their way to hurt the children. These precious hours with much fewer people present also allowed the boys time to sleep and recover from the nightly activities. During this time, the twins would hold each other, massage aching muscles, and try to talk about happier times. Such times seemed so far away now, as though from a former life. This was their life now, completely devoid of any tenderness, kindness, love, or comfort.

There was the tiniest glimmer of hope that they might still be rescued. However unlikely it was, they had to hold on to something to keep going, to keep waking up the next day. They had to believe that there was life beyond this hell. They also felt that one could not go on without the other. They were each other's reason for living, and that kept the despair at bay, for the moment...

It was on the third day after Ciel's latest beating, the boy still weak and in pain, hardly able to breathe, that a man they hardly saw came down to see them.

Ciel had been trying to sleep, but couldn't find solace for either pain or nightmares prevented him from doing so. He didn't notice the man come in, but if he had he would've been fearful. It was the man who came to take the children away when they were to be used privately by a cult member; the man who had come to take him to Selwin. The man came directly and with no hesitation to the twins' cage and unlocked the door.

"Oi, little one. Your turn's finally come." He said with a slightly sinister smile. Ciel would have sat bolt upright if it hadn't had been for the pain.

"No," he said, his voice raw from crying and not enough breath getting to his lungs. "I'll go...please..."

"Nice try, watchpup. Pryor wants the little one." The man said, reaching inside to grasp Cyril's arms. "Said to make sure I got the right one. But it's easy telling you apart now that Selwin did a number on ya." He laughed grimly.

"No!!" Cyril yelled as the man unlocked his shackle and picked him up by the upper arms. "I have to take care of my brother!"

Cyril wrenched himself away for a moment and grabbed Ciel's uninjured arm, holding on tightly. Even more than what was to come to him, Cyril feared what would happen to his twin in his absence. He didn't want him left alone even for a moment, especially in his weak and injured state.

"Come on, it's best that you get it over with. You'll be back before you know it. Don't gimme no trouble now," said the man, trying to pry the twins' fingers apart. Cyril began to use his legs to try to push the man away.

Ciel reached up weakly with his uninjured arm and grasped Cyril weakly. "No..." He cried, trying to keep Cyril with him. That couldn't happen to his brother, what had happened to him. "I'll go...please..." he tried again.  But the man was too strong and finally separated them and carried the struggling ten year old up the stairs and through the large door, slamming it shut behind him.

Cyril flailed and kicked at the man carrying him. Tiring of getting slapped in the face, he hoisted the boy over his shoulder, holding his legs together tightly, while Cyril's upper body was draped over the man's back. Cyril continued to hit him on the back, but this didn't have much effect. Eventually, Cyril went limp as he watched the stairs of the stone spiral staircase recede into the darkness. He had to conserve his energy for whatever horror was about to befall him. He wanted to be back with his brother, or better yet, have him here with him so that the two of them could make a beeline for the front door as soon as they got close enough.

 _That's probably why they bring us out one at a time,_  he thought miserably. _They know that neither of us will try to escape without the other._

The man went up the half spiral staircase and down the hall, unlocking the door to one of the many bedrooms. Pryor hadn't paid for the extra treatments Ciel had gotten, only the alcohol that came on the nightstand. The henchman dropped Cyril onto the floor, not even the bed, and closed the door behind him, locking it.  The room was thrown into pitch blackness.

"Ow!" yelled Cyril, as he was tossed onto the floor of the bedroom. He sat up and rubbed his left arm, which he had landed on. He stood up and went straight for the door which the man had just closed. It wouldn't open. Cyril turned around and groped in the darkness for another door.

As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, Cyril could make out a window. Running over to it, he looked outside. He was at least 30 feet from the ground. He figured he could tie the sheets from the bed together and use them to climb down, but he would have to be fast. He didn't know how much time he had. And then there was Ciel...Cyril could run away and come back with help, but the worst could happen while he was gone. No, he couldn't leave him...

Cyril pressed his hand against the cold glass, and then his forehead. The window felt soothing against his throbbing head. He was frustrated. He was so close to freedom, but he had to wait, even when waiting could mean more pain, or even death. But still, if he did get away, and his brother was killed, he would never be able to live with himself. He hated to admit it, but it was the truth; he would rather die with his brother, than live on without him. Cyril closed his eyes and spoke softly to himself.

"You're my brother. We live together. We die together."

Little did Cyril know, three floors below him, his brother heard him. Falling into an uneasy sleep, his mind open, he heard the soft whispers. His eyes opened slowly as a gasp escaped his lips. Had he dreamt it? He hoped Cyril was alright, and went back to sleep.

While Cyril faced the window, the door unlocked and opened behind him.


	11. Twisted Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the second rape scene of the fic. If you are triggered by this, do not read this chapter. Short trigger-minimal synopsis at the bottom of the chapter.
> 
> Song guide:
> 
> • Broken Crown - Mumford and Sons  
> • Snow White Queen - Evanescence  
> • Not Gonna Die - Skillet

"Hello, little one." Came the sneering voice of Pryor.

Cold dread descended upon Cyril when the voice spoke. He felt as though an icy lump had dropped into his stomach and his mouth went dry. His breath fogged up the cold window as he took a deep breath. His brother was not here to help him this time. He would have to face this unknown terror on his own. He needed to be strong like Ciel and maintain his dignity. He was a Phantomhive, heir to the Earldom or not, he was a descendant of a distinguished noble family; a family that served Her Majesty.

 _Just stay calm,_ he told himself. Then, very slowly, he dropped his hand from the window and turned around.

Cyril could not see the ring leader clearly in the darkness. All he could make out was a shadow of a man that was darker than the darkness around him. This terrified the boy. He wished the man would light an oil lamp or candle. He wanted to see his face. That would make him slightly less frightening. Not knowing what he was facing made the boy tremble.

The man walked slowly over to Cyril, but didn't touch him just yet as he opened the curtains wider, so moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating it just enough to barely see in the dark.

"You seem very calm, little one. Aren't you frightened?" He asked. Pryor was a different man from Selwin. Just as greedy, just as immoral, but less focused on the pain. He focused more on the humiliation. He loved to taunt his prey, talk with them first, lull them into a false sense of security. He looked over the small boy hungrily. Selwin had boasted how good the Phantomhive heir was, and everyone had chopped at the bit to get to him next, while Pryor waited and drew his attention to the smaller one.

Everyone only saw the novelty of Ciel. His status, his looks. But Pryor thought Cyril was the more worth it one. To take the Watchdog's youngest son, the frail and weak one? Who was just as pretty if you ask him. Could you imagine the look on Vincent Phantomhive's face?

Cyril was grateful for the moonlight. He could just barely make out Pryor's features.

The boy did not expect such a matter-of-fact tone from the man. He sounded as though he was just asking a simple question, with no ulterior motive. But Cyril did not trust him, so for now, he would simply play along. Truth be told, yes, he was frightened. He wanted to be back with his brother. He wanted to go home. He didn't want to be subjected to any more pain. He knew vaguely what Selwin had done to his brother, but didn't understand it, nor have a word for it. Would Pryor do the same thing? Or did he have something different in mind?

"No," Cyril replied calmly. "Just...a little nervous."

He looked down, fiddling with the end of his shirt, then he glanced to his left out the window. He could make out some snow-covered hills in the distance. He wanted to be over those hills and far away from here...

Pryor nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed behind Cyril. "Then why do I not believe you?" He thought for a moment on what to do next. "Now, I'll tell you this. Tonight will be a lot less painful for you if you do exactly as I say. Do you understand, boy?"

His tone had become a little harsher, and he began to undo his trousers. "First, come here to me."

Cyril turned back to Pryor and looked directly into his eyes, which caught just some of the moonlight streaming in. His heart began to pound in his chest. Less painful? Cyril wasn't sure whether to be relieved at those words or terrified. He supposed it depended on what Pryor wanted him to do in exchange. He didn't want to move any closer to the man, but he was trapped with nowhere to go. Cyril could only hope that Pryor was somewhat merciful and stayed true to his word. Cyril stepped hesitantly away from the window and came to stand next to the man, looking down. Even while sitting on the bed, Pryor appeared several inches taller than the small Phantomhive and smiled sinisterly as he stepped closer. When Cyril was right before him he reached out to unbutton the boy's dirty shirt and slide it off his shoulders.

"Tell me, Phantomhive. Why do you think your brother is so special?" His eyes wandered as he spoke over the small limbs and chest.

Cyril shuddered as the man unbuttoned and slipped off his shirt. Only Tanaka and his parents had ever undressed him and he didn't know why Pryor was doing so. He didn't resist but felt immensely uncomfortable. Goosebumps appeared on his arms even though the room was not particularly chilly. Why did Pryor want to talk about his brother? Was he just making conversation? At this moment, Cyril was suspicious of everything the man said and did, his senses and nerves on high alert. Why does he think Ciel is special? Well, Cyril knew what made Ciel special to him personally, but he sensed that Pryor was probably referring to what made his brother special to others.

"Be-Because...he's the heir to our family's title...because he's the oldest son."

"Do you think that's why all the men here think he's better than you?" He sounded almost condescending, like a vulture. He reached up to stroke Cyril's hair in long languid movements, from the top of his head and down his cheek and back again, very gently. "Is that why they think he's more desirable? Because I don't."

At Pryor's first question, Cyril felt a sharp stab of something. Was it resentment? No, it was more than that. It was envy, and Cyril hated himself for it. It was a familiar feeling, true, but in this situation, he felt like he had no business feeling jealous of his brother's preferential treatment when that treatment consisted of abuse and torture. Yet still, he felt it. Cyril closed his eyes as the man stroked his hair and cheek. His breathing increased slightly, not sure if he welcomed the gentle touch or not.

At the man's next words, Cyril's eyes shot open and he looked Pryor straight in the face. He didn't know what to say. This man thought he was more desirable than his brother? Cyril had never heard such a thing and was not sure how to react. "You- you don't?"

"No, no I don't." Pryor told him with a sinister smile as his hands ran over the boy's bare shoulders, torso, arms, and sides. "Everyone was chomping at the bit to get to your brother because everyone thinks he's so beautiful, and special, and important. Nobody thinks you are. You're the younger son, the sickly one, with no title and no rights to your name. I was the first one to want you. And I'll be the first one to have you." He paused. "Of course, once I have you all the others will want to as well. But that doesn't matter. Selwin boasts of taking your brother, and I've got my own beauty to boast over."

Cyril swallowed. He didn't know how to feel. This man was giving him lots of attention, flattering him even...yet Cyril was uneasy. He shuddered as Pryor's hands ghosted over certain parts of his upper body. He was not accustomed to someone touching him like this, especially a perfect stranger. He was so confused. He wanted to be happy about the affection he was receiving, being told he was desired. And yet, from what he had seen, being desired in this place seemed to result in pain.

"I don't understand...if they like my brother so much, why do they hurt him?"

"Here...where you are now, pain is a sacred thing. Pain builds character, it shows sacrifice." Pryor said, making up every word he spoke. The men there were simply devious enough to enjoy torturing the boys and girls. "And many of them don't like your father. You see, he was responsible for the destruction of many lives, including some of the men here. So both of you are very special."

Pryor's hands reached around to grip Cyril's hips, just above the hem of his low-hanging shorts, which were too big on him, and pulled him closer so he stood directly in front him. "But you're special to some of us in a...different way. One that's hard to explain to someone so young. But you'll see."

His devious grin slowly melted as he leaned forward, hands lowering and then gripping tightly where they had landed. He sniffed deeply behind Cyril's ear, nose buried in the soft blue locks, before licking up the boy's neck. His hands were gripping the boy so tight he couldn't escape, now that he'd lured him in so close.

Cyril did not know what to make of the man's words. They seemed to make sense, but something just felt...off. When Pryor mentioned his father, part of him was alarmed and slightly sympathetic, while the rest of him was defensive. He did not entirely understand the role of the Watchdog, but he knew at least that his father brought criminals to justice, and these people were definitely criminals. His sympathy was short-lived. His thoughts were interrupted by the man's physical advances. Pryor's gentle caresses had morphed into a tight grip so fast that it startled the child. He gasped as he was grabbed and brought closer, close enough to smell the man's expensive cologne. They were now cheek-to-cheek as Pryor sniffed Cyril's hair, the stubble on the man's face scratching the boy's soft skin. His nerves on high alert, every sensation became magnified and burned itself into Cyril's memory. He let out a soft cry when the man licked his neck, his heart pounding faster. He closed his eyes tight. As his breaths became shallower, Cyril wondered what in the world these feelings were. Fear? Excitement? Hatred? Pleasure? Why? He was feeling them all at once, and then finally...guilt. No, this wasn't right, none of it was.

_This man might desire me, but that doesn't mean he cares about me._

Cyril never realized before that there was a difference.

"No," he breathed out softly. He brought his arms up in front of him and began to push his captor away.

Pryor felt the boy gasp, and heard the sound that was like music to him. He felt the boy relax, then tense. This usually didn't happen so soon. The children usually trusted him until a certain point, but never did their trust sway so early. The grip he kept on the boy remained tight so he couldn't back away, but Pryor did lean back.

"Now listen here, boy." He said, tone only a bit harsher than his previous spider-like charm. "You may be as proud as your brother but I know you're not stupid. If you cooperate with me, it won't hurt as much as it could. So why don't you be a good little pet and take it."

He emphasized the word _take_ with a sharp squeeze to Cyril's backside, nails digging into the flesh as he yanked the boy closer, between his legs where he sat on the bed.

Cyril was not reassured by Pryor's words. On the contrary, they made the fear he had first felt when the man had entered the room flare up again. What was he going to do? Why was it going to hurt? He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered as Pryor dug his fingers into his skin. He couldn't push away, so he kept talking, trying to keep from panicking.

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"You'll see, pet, you'll see." Pryor told him. He pulled the boy closer again, his hands one at a time slipping into the fabric of Cyril's shorts to grip the actual fleshy globes of his bottom, and kneaded them. His mouth went back to Cyril's neck, this time biting before sucking the skin between his teeth harshly, wanting to leave a dark purple bruise on the virgin child. Cyril grit his teeth and breathed in sharply with every suck of his skin the man took then jumped as Pryor grabbed him. He reached back, placing his tiny hands on Pryor's wrists, trying to pull his hands out of his shorts. He cried out when Pryor bit into his sensitive neck and leaned his head in the opposite direction, raising his shoulder up to try to get Pryor's mouth off of him. But this only gave the man more access to the milky flesh and he bit and sucked harshly until he was satisfied with the outcome. True to his word, the more the boy struggled, the tighter his grip became. Finally, with one hand still gripping his hip roughly, the other hand pulled down the fabric of the small shorts so Cyril stood completely exposed before the cultist, crying out in surprise. 

"No! Please, no more!" Cyril tried to step backward, pushing against the man's chest with both hands with renewed fervor. Pryor let go of the boy's backside for a split second to grab both his wrists and force them behind his back, causing  Cyril to wince.

"Listen here, you little brat." He growled into Cyril's ears. "Maybe I was wrong about you, maybe you are incompetent. Maybe you'll learn something if you listen to your elders. Now we'll have to do this the hard way." He reached up with one hand to grip Cyril's hair and push him to his knees.

"Now be a good dog and sit." He kept one hand in Cyril's hair while the other undid his trousers the rest of the way and pulled out his length.

The man's words stung him and Cyril realized his suspicions were right about Pryor and all the others here at this wretched place. They only cared about themselves, interested only in causing pain and death... Cyril reached up to his hair, which felt as though it was being ripped out, trying to pry the man's fingers from his blue locks. His weak legs gave in as he was forced down onto his knees. He was now staring up at his tormentor with tears forming in his eyes.

"There there, pet." The man said with mock comfort as one hand gripped his hair still and the other roughly wiped at his face. "We've only just begun."

With his free hand, he hooked two fingers into Cyril's mouth and forced it open before positioning himself. And with one thrust, and his hand in Cyril's hair, he forced himself completely down Cyril's small throat. The boy's scream died in his throat as he was gagged with the man’s erection. He didn’t even have time to think about what was happening. He pulled back as hard as he could, his little hands still at his head, trying to free his hair from Pryor’s grasp. Pryor held him there a few long seconds, not letting the boy's small attempts at escape work. He reveled in the tight heat and the struggle before finally releasing Cyril and letting him fall backwards. Cyril hit the floor and coughed roughly, gasping for breath. 

"Do you see what I mean, little one? There's a hard way and there's an easy way that won't cause you much pain. And you can choose between them." He leaned closer to Cyril. "The only question now is if you are smart enough to choose the right one."

Cyril's eyes were stinging with tears as he sat back up, trying to process what had just happened. So this was the hard way? Cyril didn't know what to do. He didn't like the way the man was touching and using him, but he also didn't want to endure any more pain than was necessary. He was completely at the mercy of the man before him, a man who was much bigger and stronger than he was. Any struggle Cyril put up would be fruitless, and he had to get through the night somehow.

 _What would brother do?_ Ciel would be strong and maintain his dignity for as long as possible, no matter how bad the pain became. How admirable. _Brother...I'm sorry...I'm not as strong as you. You really are the better son..._  he thought miserably, self-preservation winning the internal battle. Tears fell from the child's eyes. He slowly turned his head and looked back up at his abuser.

"Alright," he choked out, his throat hoarse. "I'll - I'll cooperate."

Pryor leaned forward and stroked Cyril's hair gently again. "That's a good pet. Now come here." He helped Cyril back to sit on his knees before him where he sat on the bed. "Now, you're going to want to get this wet, it'll make things a lot easier. Use your mouth."

Now that the boy was cooperating, his gentle yet sadistic spider-like nature returned. He truly loved it when the children did as he said, it made him feel like he owned them, like they were his and did his bidding. That they were under his control. It made it easier for his subconscious to believe they liked what they were doing, that they were his personal little whores.

Cyril didn't understand. How was getting this wet supposed to make anything easier? And why did he need to use his mouth to do so? He wondered why Pryor couldn't use a number of other methods to get it wet but he was afraid to ask any more questions. The boy didn't want that thing back in his mouth, but if doing this was going to prevent further pain, then he would obey. He looked up at Pryor, then back down at his length. He leaned forward slightly and gave a hesitant lick. He scrunched up his face at the odd taste and looked back up at the man in uncertainty.

The man was watching him, giving slow, gentle strokes to his hair. "That's it, a little more." The length was already wet, from having been down Cyril's throat already, but Pryor wanted to drag this out and watch the boy put it in his mouth willingly before taking him up onto the bed.

Cyril was relieved that Pryor was being gentle again. Disgusted as he was, the boy felt that maybe if he just obeyed and did his best, he wouldn't be punished and the man would be merciful. He savored the soft stroking of his hair, such an extreme contrast to the severe grabbing it had endured just moments before. He leaned forward once more, and licked along the man's erection in a long stroke. He paused, and then licked the other side, coating it in saliva, trying not to think about the taste and hoping that this is what Pryor wanted. He continued all the way around, pausing occasionally. When he thought it was sufficiently wet, he looked back up into the man's eyes, hoping it was enough.

Pryor nodded at the boy, having groaned a few times out of the pleasure it caused him to see the boy on his knees, so thoroughly servicing his cock.

"Good boy," he helped Cyril to stand and stood as well, lifting Cyril and placing him on the edge of the bed while he undressed himself the rest of the way. "It's a soft bed, isnt it?" He asked. "So different from the stone floor in the cellar. If you're as good as I hope you are, I might bring you up here more often. You can be my personal pet." He chuckled at the thought and looked over the boy's body, arousal making him grow larger. "Now, go up and lay on the pillows, make yourself comfortable, and open your legs."

Cyril was relieved that he didn't have to lick anymore. His skinny legs dangled off the side of the bed. He dug his fingers into the soft bedspread, self-conscious about his nakedness. It was indeed a soft bed. It reminded him of home, and how much he missed it. He tried not to think about his parents...

Cyril considered the man's words. Become his personal pet? Cyril wasn't sure what that all involved, but if it meant protection from the other cultists, protection from pain, or even death, the boy would have to think about it. He had no idea how long he was going to be held captive here, and survival was his first priority. Maybe if he gave Pryor what he wanted, he would be spared from the desires of the other men, and spared from the altar.

He wondered what was coming next. Were they going to sleep? Cyril wanted to believe that was the case, but judging from Pryor's instructions, the night seemed far from over.

Cyril brought his legs up onto the bed and crawled over to the pillows. He curled up on his right side, facing the moonlight, and then nervously turned to lay on his back, one hand at his side, the other resting on his stomach, his heart beginning to pound again. His legs were shoulder-width apart.

Pryor looked at the small child, pale skin bathed in moonlight from the open window, barely a mark on his slender body because the others didn't think he was important. Good, let them think that, let them leave the Watchdog's youngest son ripe for the taking. He mounted the bed and knelt beside the child. He ran a hand over a milky thigh and back up before placing his hand on the inner part and pulled his legs further apart, bending one at the knee to expose the tight ringed entrance that nobody else had touched. And it was all his. Cyril shuddered at Pryor's touch but did not resist. His breathing became shallow again, petrified and not knowing what was going to happen. The child began to tremble.

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"Hush boy," Pryor told him, only somewhat gently. He pushed Cyril onto his side, so he could lay on his own side behind him, reaching around to press the boy's body to his own. He lifted the leg that was closest to him and bent it to the boy's chest, rubbing his length against the space between Cyril's thighs.

Cyril fell silent and let his body be moved. He could feel the man's breath behind him, as well as his length pressing up against his skin. He took a deep breath and looked out the window at the moon, trying to relax. About now was the time the children started struggling, so Pryor reached underneath the boy to wrap an arm around his torso, successfully pinning Cyril's small arms to his sides. Reaching down with hand that had been holding Cyril's leg up, he ran his cock against the boy’s entrance, lining it up and preparing to enter him.

Cyril wanted to turn to see what Pryor was doing behind him but he could barely move. He did not like his arms being pinned, and with his leg being held up and bent, he could not put his thighs together at all.  Fear and panic began to take their hold once more, and he struggled against the man’s tight grasp. “What are you- Why are we-?”

Pryor shushed him again, this time like a mother would her crying baby, and leant closer to his ear, lips almost directly against the shell. "This may hurt...just a little..."

Cyril relaxed a little, Pryor’s voice almost soothing, but his words made him tremble again.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he exhaled shakily. Pryor reached down and finally pressed the wet head against the small entrance and pushed forward barely by centimeters, making sure to go slow so the boy wouldn't struggle too hard. Cyril let out a cry and his eyes shot open as soon as he felt the man’s length begin to push inside. It stung and burned, his skin beginning to stretch beyond its limits. He whimpered and tried to wiggle his hips away. 

“No…it hurts…” The wiggling caused the barely half inch of the cock that Pryor has gotten inside to pop out of Cyril. 

"Don't struggle, little pet. It makes it hurt worse." He chided and held Cyril's hips flush against his own for a moment and then reached down to begin guiding himself in again, this time a tiny bit faster, and he got up to an inch inside and stopped to give Cyril a moment to adjust.

Cyril stopped struggling and relaxed in Pryor’s arms for a moment, but as Pryor began again, Cyril grit his teeth and ducked his head to his chest, trying to remember to breathe. The stinging was still present, decreasing only slightly when Pryor paused. Cyril was panting, not liking it one bit.

“Stop…please, too big,” Cyril grunted. He couldn’t imagine how this could possibly be enjoyable for Pryor, or anyone else.

Laying on his right side, Pryor reached up with his left hand to hold Cyril's face under his jaw, gently. He kissed the smooth pale temple, and high cheekbone. The words Cyril spoke were like the most sensual dirty talk he could have in the bedroom. And the boy wasn't even questioning why he was doing this, even being a virgin. He didn't know what this act meant. His only concern was that Pryor was too big for him. He couldn't help but wonder, if he was smaller, and with the proper preparation, would this mean the Phantomhive boy would take him willingly? There was no time to think about that now, he liked it this way. After a few more moments of allowing Cyril's body to adjust as much as it was going to, he continued to push in another few inches, the tight hot muscles squeezing him unlike any of the other children before, boys and girls alike.

Pryor's lips did not still when his hips did, ducking even lower to close his mouth over Cyril's small one. Cyril did not understand why Pryor was kissing him. Was this supposed to be some kind of reward for taking the pain he was inflicting on him? What was the purpose of any of this? Was it simply to put children through excruciating pain in some kind of sick ritual? Did these men really see pain as sacred?

 _Maybe only if it's not happening to them,_ Cyril thought miserably.

The boy's thoughts were interrupted as Pryor resumed his forward movement. Cyril cried out as Pryor forced himself further inside him, the burn intensifying. The surrounding skin reached its limits and tore. He began to bleed and Cyril's breaths came sharp and fast. He was shaking in Pryor's tight grasp. He wanted to pull away, but remembering what the man said, he kept still, eyes stinging with tears.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please, no more..."

"Don't worry, my pet. You're almost there..." Pryor told him, yet somehow still sounding soothing despite his actions. He pushed in a bit more until he was fully sheathed inside Cyril, groaning deeply.

Cyril's fingers curled into fists. He buried his face in the pillows, biting down on the one beneath his cheek, his cries now muffled slightly. Had this been the goal? To get as much of himself as possible inside him? From Pryor's moan, the accomplishment seemed to make him content. Cyril hoped that Pryor was now satisfied, and would pull himself out and let him sleep. He lay still, afraid that any movement would tear him apart. He waited with bated breath...

Pryor waited a few moments as well, revelling in the feeling of the boy's tight walls, his small body pressed against his own. Slowly, he began to pull out, then push back inside, setting a steady pace. Cyril gasped in surprise and pain as Pryor pushed back inside. It wasn't over. Cyril cried out loudly, Pryor drawing blood with every push.

The familiar wave of hopelessness once again washed over Cyril. He hated feeling so helpless, locked in the clutches of his tormentor, powerless to fight back or escape. He let the tears fall, down his face and onto the pillow beneath him. Was this what Ciel had endured? He longed for his brother's gentle touch, instead of the prison of this man's harsh embrace.

As Cyril grew slightly more accustomed to the rhythm, he began to feel something else in the midst of the pain. What was this? He could almost call it...pleasure? Why? Through his pants and cries, a small moan escaped him. And then another. And then another. He was still in agony, but now the agony had company. It didn't make sense to the boy. He didn't know what to think, nor did he have time to. He was simply lost in all of the sensations.

The man behind him chuckled darkly, reaching down to hold loosely around Cyril's neck. He didn't know this one would be like that, only a few usually were. He moved his hips to angle his thrusts into different places, still pressing his lips messily to Cyril's ear and sucking on the shell. His moans were so innocent, so arousing. He couldn't help but speed up at the pleasure he received from hearing them. So high pitched, so beautiful. His lips finally reached around to touch Cyril's, suckling on his lower lip.

 

Cyril gasped in surprise as Pryor's lips met his. He immediately tried to pull away but the man held his face in place. His mustache scratched the boy's skin as he worked his mouth, his tongue forcing its way inside.  Cyril didn't know why Pryor was kissing him. He was confused and disgusted. He had seen his parents kiss a few times, but they were always short and tender and sweet. This was different. This was forceful and wet and lasting far too long. The boy whimpered, wishing the man would stop.  When Pryor finally released his mouth, Cyril breathed in sharply, gasping for air. He wanted to wipe his mouth dry but his arms were still pinned to his sides. He turned his head away and wiped his face as best as he could on the covers.

 

The child cried out with every thrust, each angle creating a new sensation, with a different degree of pain. Pleasure mingled with agony as the man pounded into him. It was impossible to get used to any of it, as Pryor changed technique or speed at a moment's notice. He felt Pryor's hand around his neck and his hot mouth on his ear, both sending their own sensations throughout Cyril's body, though the boy was not sure why. Cyril had an inkling that Pryor was fully aware of the feelings he was causing and was thus doing it deliberately.

The child did not like Pryor's hand on his neck. It felt like a sign of ownership, and Cyril refused to be owned by anyone, no matter how much money they spent on him. His survival instincts kept him quiet, however. Pryor could believe whatever he wanted; even if he would have to pretend to be his pet to stay alive, Cyril would never forget that he belonged to no one...

And so he took it. He took every one of Pryor's painful thrusts. He was getting dizzy. There were moments when Cyril thought he would pass out, but he knew he wouldn't die. He would take this, and everything that came with it. Thoughts of Ciel kept him present, kept him from slipping into blackness or despair.

_Brother...I may not be as strong as you, but I am strong enough._

That thought alone made Cyril hold on just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Pryor takes Cyril after psychological damage is inflicted where he twists words and makes Cyril thinks he is being gentle and affectionate with him instead of the harsh truth. Cyril ends up not believing him and think of Ciel, waiting for the abuse to be over.


	12. Bring in the Post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Believe It Or Not - Nickleback

Ciel had woken, sitting in the cage with his back pressed against the bars, hands gripping his head tightly, causing his broken fingers pain. He was crying. He could hear _everything_ , and almost feel every sensation washing over Cyril. He hated this. He'd been through this sort of torture twice now, and he'd vowed to keep his brother away from it...and he had failed. He'd promised, their first few days in the cage he'd told Cyril he'd protect him, and he hadn't.

 _Brother..._ he heard Cyril's thought and clutched his head tighter. Cyril was thinking of him so highly and being so brave. Ciel couldn't close the connection between them. 

_No, Cyril. I'm not strong. You're being stronger than me. I gave in, I believed I belonged to them, I let them own me. You're taking everything and you still have hope when I've lost mine..._

"There is no God, is there?" He asked himself, wondering how if there was they could end up like this...

* * *

Pryor finished not long after, and left Cyril's body, still holding the small boy to him. The feeling of being filled from the inside surprised and unnerved the small child, but he was relieved, especially when Pryor finally pulled out. He lay still in the man's arms, panting weakly, trying to catch his breath, his throat dry and hoarse from screaming and crying. After resting a few moments, Pryor got up, leaving Cyril on the bed. He dressed and washed, having another shot of scotch before ringing a bell and leaving Cyril alone in the room with the wash basin and the alcohol on the night stand. A maid would be there soon to dress him and take him back to his brother. 

In the cage, Ciel thanked God it was over, then reminded himself that he was thanking no one. 

Cyril felt his brother's anguish, and heard his thoughts to him; his thoughts always came in clearer to Cyril when he was in an emotionally heightened state. He cried fresh tears, this time for Ciel. Each brother felt like they had let the other down, but for different reasons. Cyril wanted to hold him. He wanted to be held. He closed his eyes, thinking about his brother, and sleep took him for a moment. His twin was in turmoil. He was weeping. He was still in pain from the injuries Selwin had inflicted on him. Cyril had to get to him; Ciel needed his help. How could he get there? He needed to wake up.

_Wake up!_

"Wake up, child..."

Awareness returned and Cyril slowly opened his eyes. The face of a young maid came into focus. She had lit the oil lamp on the bedside table and was bent over the bed, gently rubbing his shoulder. Pryor was gone. For a moment, Cyril thought he had dreamt the whole experience. Was it all a nightmare? He got his answer when he tried to move, and was immediately met with burning pain, and aches all over his body. It had been real, all of it; the sights, sounds, and sensations were all burned into his memory. He let out a small cry.

"It's alright, little one. Just stay where you are. I'm here to clean you."

Cyril turned onto his stomach and relaxed into the bed. Blood and come were dripping from him and every little movement was painful. The maid wet the washcloth in the basin and gently cleaned his backside and legs. Cyril turned his head toward her for a moment and looked at her face. She wore a stoic expression and barely made eye contact with him.

_Why is she acting so...normal?_

And then he remembered. In this place, pain was normal. Hurting children was normal. Did no one think this was strange? Did no one think this was wrong? Even the servants couldn't be trusted here. No one was looking out for them. Reaching out to her for help would do nothing. He and his brother were truly on their own...

When she finished, she wrung out the washcloth and set it on the basin. She then walked around the bed, found the boy's clothes, and returned to his side. Slowly, she helped Cyril back into his dirty shirt and shorts and walked him out of the bedroom. Every step was agony, but eventually, the boy and maid arrived at the large heavy door to the cellar. One of the men was waiting for them. Seeing the boy's state, he picked Cyril up and carried him down the long stone spiral staircase and into the main chamber. The cage was unlocked and Cyril crawled inside.

"Brother!" Cyril called out hoarsely, crawling straight to his twin and collapsing in his arms.

"Cyril!" Despite his own pain, Ciel pulled his brother to him gently, holding tightly to him as if they'd take him away again if he didn't.

"I'm so sorry..." Ciel whispered. "I could've done more...I didn't want you to go through that."

Ciel remembered when Selwin took him, how painful and traumatic that was. He clutched Cyril tighter with his good hand at the thought. They had to get out of here. He could see the pain in his brother's face as he moved, and how he tried to avoid sitting directly. Anger surged through him.

"These men are awful...I want to kill them." He said. 

Cyril had his face buried in his brother's chest, his arms wrapped around him. He looked up into his twin's eyes. He now understood the torture Ciel had endured the previous week, from no less than three different men, even volunteering himself in Cyril's stead, trying to protect his little brother.

Cyril felt a rush of gratitude and sadness for his twin, now knowing what he had suffered for him. He couldn't convey in words everything he wanted to say. The humiliation, the mind games, the pain, the pleasure, the guilt; all of the conflicting sensations and confusing emotions. Part of him wanted to talk about all of it because he knew Ciel would understand, but he didn't have a clue where to begin and the rest of him just wanted to sleep. So he tried to convey it all with his gaze deep into his brother's eyes. Then he laid his head back down onto Ciel's chest with a weak sob, and simply wept as his brother held him, rocking gently back and forth.

Ciel hugged him as tight as he could, keeping Cyril close, as if concealing his younger twin with his body would hide him from the sight of anyone who wanted to hurt him. He put one hand in his twin's hair, unknowing that it would all end in the next week. Ciel felt hopeless. There was no god here to protect them, there was no one coming to save them. And all he could do was try to protect his brother and fail. He felt so weak, mentally and physically. He was in pain and malnourished and he felt dizzy, as though he'd pass out any second, but he fought it because his brother needed him. He finally laid down on the stone floor and pulled Cyril close to him. His breathing ragged, he fell into a forced sleep.

* * *

 

The twin boys hardly moved at all over the next few days. Their minds and bodies were exhausted and wounded in every way. The only time they managed to sit up was for their food and water, which came once a day. They had now grown accustomed to the awful taste of their unidentifiable slop, but still retched as it was forced down their throats. Their waking hours continued to mingle with their nightmares. The intensity of Cyril's night terrors had increased since his experience with Pryor as he now carried fresh and raw fodder for them. He awoke several times a day screaming, and Ciel was right there to hold him close, despite his own traumatic nightly visions...

It was the fourth week of their captivity in this place but the boys were unsure how much time had passed. They grew weaker with each passing day. They had even started to grow numb at the final screams and death throes of the children who were selected to be sacrifices. They wondered if it would ever be their turn on the altar. They thought that as long as they remained entertaining and useful to the cultists, they would be spared.

Word had spread among the debauched adults about Pryor's night with the youngest Phantomhive and there was plenty of gossip when the congregation arrived for the night's ceremonies.

Ciel had been holding Cyril as they slept, so mentally and physically tired from their malnutrition and trauma. They'd been sleeping quite a lot more now. They had been asleep when the cultists arrived. Ciel woke first, feeling dizzy almost the moment he woke up and looked around. He was curled up on his side, laying next to Cyril who was on his front, hands holding Ciel's shirt tightly as he slept. He let his brother sleep, not waking him just yet because the cultists were still filing in, hushed whispers and conversations slowly filling the stone room.

After everyone had been inside a few minutes, Ciel slowly woke Cyril. They had decided together it was better to be awake, in case something happened. He helped his brother sit up sleepily and hugged him as they waited for the nightly activities to begin. In the last few days they had gotten a slight bit weaker. Ciel had been the last one to swallow the ring, and would be the one to keep it for the next few days.

The boys stayed in the back of the cage. For the past few days, the cultists had been focusing on the other children during their nightly ceremonies, which included the sacrifice of a young boy from a cage across the chamber from them. The twins had shielded their eyes from it, but they couldn't block out the screams. They hoped that there wouldn't be another child killed tonight...

After a few more minutes of mingling, the chatter died down as Pryor and Selwin entered the underground chamber. Like everyone else, they wore black hooded cloaks, though Pryor and Selwin had their hoods down tonight. Cyril looked away and grasped Ciel's shirt when he saw Pryor's face, as he had done the previous nights, not wanting to see his abuser.

"Attention everyone!" Pryor called out from the center of the circular room. "We have something very special for you all tonight, and as it was our brother Selwin's idea, I'll let him give the announcement."

Selwin stepped forward.

"As always, thank you all for coming. It's been an eventful week, and I've been receiving many...requests from you. The show we had over a week ago with our little watchpup," Selwin paused to gesture to the twins' cage, eliciting glances and snickers from the onlookers, "...was very well received, and I heard many of you asking us to do something similar again. Well...our popular little pups have been  _quite_  preoccupied," Selwin said with a smug smile.

The boys tried to shrink backward even though they were already in the back of the cage, feeling all the eyes on them. The words were met with roars of laughter and clapping. One of the cultists actually patted Pryor on the shoulder in congratulations. Ciel waited for them to announce what was going to happen to them. Tears already threatened to spill over. Was this finally the punishment for Cyril that Selwin had promised him? He hoped not, and if it was he'd do everything he could to keep Cyril safe.

"You have all been very patient, and are in for a nice treat." Selwin continued, Pryor looking to him with a look of curiosity, wondering what Selwin could be planning. "You've probably noticed just how close our little Phantomhive twins are; the epitome of 'brotherly love'."

Selwin looked intently through the bars of the cage at Ciel as more snickers from the cultists could be heard.

"So I thought we'd do a little...experiment," said Selwin with a meaningful smile, his gaze remaining on Ciel's face for a moment. Then, he turned around and called out to someone the boys couldn't see.

"Bring in the post!"


	13. Velvet Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains violent depictions of torture and gore. Extreme mental torture and feels. Short synopsis of chapter in the post-chapter notes.
> 
> Song guide:  
> • Iron - Within Temptation  
> • Give Me A Sign - Breaking Benjamin

Ciel kept his gaze on Selwin until the man finally took his eyes off him. He hugged Cyril close, protectively curling around him as they watched the two henchmen, whom they'd never seen before, one at the front and another carrying the end of a large wooden post with black shackles hanging off. They walked to a hole Ciel hadn't noticed before, a little ways away from the altar, and put the pole down into it, both grunting. Its arrival caused more cheers.

Cyril suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of dread. He eyed the post as it was positioned and secured and then looked away and held tight to Ciel. Then Selwin spoke again.

"Now let's have a good look at our little pups. Bring them both out!"

The boys tensed as the two henchmen walked over to the cage and pulled out the keys. Selwin wanted both of them? The cultists so rarely took them out of the cage at the same time, but the boys figured their captors were confident that an escape was not likely with so many adults surrounding them.

Their shackles were unlocked and the young boys were dragged out by their arms to applause and cheers. They felt like they were walking into an arena. Ciel walked with one arm protectively around Cyril as they were ushered to the center of the room. They stumbled slightly, their chafed and bleeding ankles stinging as they walked. The crowd was getting more excited. Some shouted vulgar comments while others tried to touch them as they went by. One man tried to grope at Cyril and Ciel pulled his brother closer, away from the man, shooting daggers at him with his eyes. They walked along the path that was created for them, the cultists parting like the Red Sea to bring them closer to Selwin and Pryor, their main tormentors, to be inspected.

When the boys were just a few feet from Pryor and Selwin, the leader and his second in command looked their prizes over. The past few weeks had clearly taken their toll on the precious little pups. They were thinner and their skin more sallow, dark circles under their eyes. The men stepped forward and, beaming, turned the boys around to face their audience, placing their strong hands on the narrow shoulders of their respective victims.

Cyril almost couldn't bear to have his abuser standing right behind him, much less have him touch him. He stood there tensed, feeling miserable, trying to not look any of the hooded and masked spectators in the eye. Selwin gave Ciel's shoulders a tight squeeze before speaking again.

"The time has come. All of you have seen how inseparable these two are...and they will do just about...anything...to protect one another, especially one in particular..." Selwin looked down at Ciel for a moment before continuing. Pryor was petting Cyril's hair.

"So, naturally, I became curious. I decided we should test the limits of this bond. And while we have had siblings with us before, there's nothing quite like...twins."

Selwin glanced at Pryor, who stood beside him, a quizzical look on his face.

"Shall we begin?"

Pryor looked to the right of the room where the henchmen were standing. Selwin's next words were met with the biggest applause yet, one so loud it hurt the boys ears and made Ciel flinch.

**_"Fetch the whip."_ **

Ciel gasped. They were going to whip them? No, Cyril couldn't stand that, and he couldn't stand to see his brother more hurt.

Pryor stroked Cyril's hair and watched the whip being brought closer, wondering what Selwin had panned. He looked to Selwin and nodded hesitantly. The cultists surely would be entertained tonight, and it ensured future business and return customers, but he still couldn't help but notice Selwin seemed to be disobeying the Master's one solid rule: cause no permanent damage. Not wanting to get in the way of the richer lord or his henchmen, he simply spectated, as oblivious as the twin he held.

Cyril stood frozen and wide-eyed, certain that he must have misheard his brother's tormentor. The man beside him snapped once and pointed to Ciel. The henchmen seemed to already know what their master had in mind and moved to the older boy, grabbing him each by an arm and holding him in place. Ciel looked back at the two frantically. Why did they need to hold him back? Selwin spun him around to face him and began to unbutton Cyril's shirt and the boy began to panic. He pushed Selwin away as hard as he could and turned to run but the man caught him from behind, wrapping his arms around the boy and continuing to undress him.

"No! No!! Please!!" screamed Cyril, struggling with all of the energy he had left.  He sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to keep the shirt from parting with his body.

"Come now, be a good pet..." said Pryor, watching the struggle with a tentative curiosity, not wanting Selwin to cause anymore damage to his prize. Cyril looked up, red in the face, arms still tight around himself.

"I'm not your PET!!" Cyril shouted at Pryor.

The room instantly got quiet. Then some of the cultists began to chuckle nervously, while others simply waited with bated breath for what would happen next. Pryor looked stunned for a moment, but then the surprise turned to cold fury in a matter of seconds. He stepped forward and connected his hand with Cyril's face so fast and hard that the child's face whipped to the side.

Ciel screamed, "NO!" and tried to struggle forward the second Pryor's hand came in contact with Cyril's face. He was so vulnerable, they both were. Ciel was so livid he felt the sting of the slap across his own cheek. He didn't know what he'd do next but he had deduced that Cyril would be whipped first, and somehow, he had to stop it from happening. Selwin's henchmen held Ciel tightly by the upper arms, taking the child's kicks and standing as still as possible.

Selwin looked up, amused by the helpless struggles of Ciel Phantomhive. "Whoa, easy there, Watchpup. No need to get so excited. Your role is just as important as your brother's. In fact, the experiment has already begun..."

Selwin practically ripped Cyril's shirt the rest of the way off, leaving the boy in just his worn shorts. His bare back along with the brand could be seen by all. Then Selwin and one of the henchmen picked Cyril up from the floor and dragged him over to the large wooden post. Barnard came up to Selwin with a long brown leather whip with a single tail and handed it to him.

"Alright everyone! Here's how this is going to work," called Selwin, as his henchman began to shackle Cyril's wrists above his head to the front of the post. Cyril looked over his shoulder as Selwin spoke. "Simply put, our strapping little Watchpup is going to flog his own twin brother."

Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd, from all except Pryor who watched as the boy he had claimed was threatened with such ample torture. He could only hope Selwin wouldn't take this too far. Cyril stared aghast at the revelation, completely beside himself, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

"And if he does not do this," Selwin called above the loud excitement, "he can watch _me_  whip his brother instead," Selwin finished with a sadistic smile at Ciel.

Ciel watched, hyperventilating as he realized what was going on and what was going to happen. He no longer heard the cheers, he was numb and deaf. He didn't even realize the henchmen had let him go, or that Selwin was putting the whip into his hand and speaking until he felt the weight of it against his palm. What was he going to do? He thought through the situation quickly.

He couldn't whip Cyril, he couldn't cause his brother pain; he didn't even know how to use the whip. But if he didn't do it, Selwin would. And Selwin was merciless, and he never wanted Cyril to suffer at Selwin's hand like he had. That man was never allowed to touch Cyril. But he couldn't. He physically couldn't will himself to aim the whip at the bare back of his brother, knowing what the outcome would be anyway. Even if he didn't do it that hard, the cultists wouldn't be satisfied and Selwin would do it himself. He had to make sure Selwin couldn't do it. 

With a cry of rage, he turned and brought the whip around to hit Selwin, the loud crack scaring even him as the tail hit him across the front of his upper thighs due to the boy's height. And once Selwin doubled over, the front of his robe ripping, Ciel found himself unable to stop, and he kept lashing at Selwin, no matter if he missed, or if he hit tender flesh. Ciel hated this man and kept aiming for him. This man who had touched him, tortured him. He completely saw red and couldn't stop.

Selwin attempted to catch the whip with his hands a few times but the crazed child was too erratic in his movements and his hands only ended up bleeding. There were cries from the onlookers but Ciel kept going. At one point, the whip came fast across Selwin's face, leaving a deep laceration across his right eye and down his cheek. The man fell to his knees holding his face as Ciel continued to advance...

Cyril almost couldn't believe what was happening. Inside, there was an intense rage that was not his own, his prevailing emotion being fear at this moment. Looking back over his shoulder, which still bore the purple bruise Pryor had given him, he watched his brother bear down on Selwin, with a hatred and intensity he had never witnessed from his twin. Cyril felt every wave of his brother's rage; it amazed and terrified him.

Finally, four or five cultists tackled the child from behind and the sides, pushing him down on his stomach. Ciel held tight to the whip but it was eventually pried out of his fingers. One cultist straddled the boy's back, and held his head down. There were two men pressing down painfully on the boy's right leg with their knees, not realizing nor caring about how much weight was on the malnourished child's fragile bones. Ciel struggled and they pressed harder, trying to keep the boy still, until finally, there was a loud snap...

Ciel screamed, the bone protruding slightly underneath his loose skin. His screams turned into a loud sob and he struggled to get out from underneath the men, but that only made the pain worse.

"No! NO! STOP!" Ciel cried in pain. "Stop, it hurts. Get off! Cyril!" He screamed, but the men continued to stay on him. The cultist on his back slapped Ciel across the face, knocking his head into the stone on the ground and it made him dizzy, unfocusing his vision. A large bump formed on the side of his head quickly.

"Shut up, you rotten brat! Your brother will pay for what you've done and you're going to watch!" Ciel couldn't tell if it was Selwin or another cultist speaking and he felt his head forced up by the hair to watch Cyril, hot tears pouring from his eyes.

"No!" He screamed. This couldn't happen. Not to Cyril. "Hurt me. Kill me. Please don't touch him!"

Selwin stood up from the floor, dusting himself off. He removed his torn black robe, revealing his usual expensive dress pants, shirt, and vest. He used the robe to dab his bleeding hands and face. The cultist who had wrenched the whip out of Ciel's grasp then handed it to Selwin. He slowly walked over to Ciel, who was being held down by a few volunteers from the audience. Selwin looked down into the agonized, tear-stained face of the boy he so loved to torment. His expression was cold and smug despite his injuries. His pride had been bruised. He had wanted to see the boy's tortured face as he whipped the person he loved most in the world, and he had been denied that pleasure. He had been humiliated in front of his fellows, and something needed to be done about it...

"That was a bold move, Watchpup. Bold...and foolish. You are indeed your father's son. Every lash you have dealt me will be dealt upon your brother... _tenfold_."

Selwin's gaze moved from Ciel to the cultist atop him, who was holding the boy's head up by the hair. "Make sure he watches the whole thing, Locke."

"No," Ciel said hopelessly, looking up at Selwin, begging him for mercy. He couldn't even remember how many lashes he'd dealt him. At least ten. One hundred, merciless lashes of the whip for his brother? He'd die. He couldn't, he'd lose Cyril.

"No, please. I'll do whatever you want. You can have me again, as many times as you want. Hurt me, fuck me." He begged. He'd finally learned the word for it from the two men who had shared him. "Please, please. I'm begging, actually begging. Kill me if you think I'll be the Watchdog. Do anything you want, but not him. Please."

Selwin let out a dark laugh, amused by the boy's desperation as well as the vulgar words coming from such innocent lips. The bloody lash across the man's sharp features only made him appear more terrifying.

"You misunderstand, little pup," Selwin chuckled. "You don't get to negotiate. I can have you as many times as my wallet will allow...although, since the Master's property has damaged me so, he may see fit to give me a discount," he said with a wicked smile, staring intently into the boy's despairing eyes.

Cyril turned back around to face the wooden post he was shackled to, tears streaming down his face. He pressed his forehead against the post, the whirlwind of emotions coming from Ciel mingling with his own. His brother's abuser was about to put a whip to his back, and there was nothing he could do about it. Cyril prayed that he would live through the experience, but then wondered if there was a God to pray to. Was anyone looking out for them at all? Would they ever escape this hell, or was this their new normal? What if he died? Who would cradle Ciel to sleep after one of these horrible grownups used him as a toy?

No...he couldn't die...not in front of his brother...not like this...

His brother...even if there was no God, there was still someone Cyril could believe in...

Cyril closed his eyes and whispered to his twin in his mind.  _You are my strength, brother. Be strong, and so will I._

"But I can't," Ciel whispered out loud in response. He couldn't be strong because he wasn't. He couldn't handle this, he felt like he could do nothing while Selwin stepped forward with the whip. He would have to sit there and watch his brother die.

 _But I have to..._ he thought to himself. _It doesn't matter what I feel anymore. I have to force myself to fake it for him..._

"I'm here," he whispered again, this time out loud and to Cyril. His words were raw from the pain in his leg that only increased. The man on his leg had long since gotten off of him but the bone, still practically snapped in two, was now resting in the wrong place. Locke was still on his back while he laid face down on the stone, holding his head up by his hair so he'd watch. He couldn't close his eyes, no matter how much he wanted to. It was his brother, he had to see what Selwin did to him, so if they ever made it out of here he could deal it back to him again, _tenfold_.

Cyril heard his brother's words and he felt a moment of calm. In that moment, all was quiet, the room holding its collective breath. Cyril was terrified but his brother was with him and he was comforted. The brothers were connected in ways that went far beyond blood, and in this moment, they savored that sacred connection; it was all they had left...

Selwin stepped into position behind Cyril. He took one final glance at Ciel and gave a triumphant smirk. This is what he wanted. He had the one person the son of that wretched Phantomhive cared about the most at his mercy. The boy would not break through simple physical abuse, assault, or even humiliation. He would suffer anything for the one he loved; sacrifice his body, his pride, his dignity...if it ensured the safety of his brother. But the boy was about to learn a hard lesson: the lesson that you could sacrifice everything for the one you care about, and still lose them, and Selwin was all too happy to deliver the lesson in the worst way...

Selwin turned his attention to the younger Phantomhive, standing shackled with his bare back to him. He took a deep breath, and so did Cyril, his visible ribs expanding beneath thin, pale skin. The child filled his mind with thoughts of his brother and prayed for strength, trying not to anticipate the pain that was to come.

Selwin drew his arm back, whip in hand, and brought it forward, flicking his wrist expertly, as though he had performed the movement for years. His aim was true, and the whip cracked on the skin just to the left of the boy's spine.

The explosion of pain came so sharp and fast that Cyril's body almost forgot how to breathe. Cyril's mind was forcibly yanked back to the present. A loud cry was ripped from his tiny lungs. The sting was unlike any the boy could have ever imagined...an intense sting that lingered long after the leather parted with the flesh. Ciel cried out with him, watching the lash open the skin on his back. The burst of pain was all Cyril was focusing on and Ciel could feel his brother's agony. It was a torture all in itself, and seeing Cyril go through this, he felt anger unlike anything before. He wanted nothing more than to make Selwin go through this himself.

The next lash came, and a fresh wound opened and blood dripped down Cyril's back. With each cry and each lash, Ciel flinched and Locke felt it beneath him. He noticed something suddenly, red beneath the thin white of Ciel shirt that came with every flinch. 

Locke lifted Ciel's shirt and marveled at what he saw. Thin red welts were appearing down Ciel's back, nothing of course in comparison to Cyril but in the same pattern. Locke gasped, "Selwin! Come here a moment, you must see."

He waited until the lashes stopped and Selwin was looking. He released Ciel's hair a moment and his head fell down harshly onto the stone. Locke gestured to the marks. "I think these boys are more special than we think, Selwin." He said with sinister interest.

The lashes interrupted, Cyril finally had a moment to catch his breath. He coughed and panted raggedly, breathing in the smell of his own blood. His legs were shaking but he knew that if he bent them, his thin wrists would have to support his weight from the shackles. Blinded by pain, he rested his head against the post and began to sob.

The assembled crowd had been cheering and clapping throughout the lashing, but when Locke called Selwin over, many complained, wondering what was so interesting. The few cultists who saw the welts developing on Ciel's back grew wide-eyed, looking from Cyril's flayed back to Ciel's in amazement. Selwin, too, raised an eyebrow at the welts, and then narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was something to celebrate, or something to fear. He stroked his chin in thought for a moment. Clearly, there was some sort of connection between the two boys, but he didn't understand it. It went beyond his knowledge and he didn't have the time to look into it while he was putting on a spectacle. Nonetheless, the phenomenon intrigued him, and his mind immediately began to explore ways to exploit it.

_So the boy can literally feel his brother's pain? Good. I can use that._

"Stand up a moment, I want a closer look."

Locke stood up, letting Ciel go and letting him lay limply on the ground, spirit now broken. He lay completely still, hopeless, eyes blank as he let Selwin kneel over him to do what he wanted. The cultists watched as Ciel didn't move, and in the silence Cyril's sobs echoed through the room.

Selwin knelt down in front of the boy and looked him over. He noticed the child's broken leg and wondered for a moment if the younger one could feel it. Did it work both ways? He wasn't sure. The man pulled Ciel's shirt up higher and examined the red welts covering the boy's back. He reached out his hand and pressed down hard on the swollen skin. Ciel flinched as the skin was pressed upon, only feeling a small amount of pain and hoping Cyril didn't feel anything from it. He made a small noise through lips that were pressed together tightly, wiggling because he wanted his tormentor's hands off him. He was glad Cyril had this moment to rest but knew the whipping would resume and found fresh hot tears sliding down his face.

Selwin felt the boy flinch beneath him but he wanted to see the Phantomhive's face. He grabbed the child's hair and lifted his head up just enough to see the tears streaming down his face. Selwin gazed into the hopeless eyes and gave a satisfied smile.

"Such a blessing...and curse...I see more fun in our future, Watchpup," Selwin mused, patting the boy's cheek in mock affection with his free hand.

"Enjoy the show," he said, laying the boy's head back down on the floor and standing up straight. He turned back to Locke.

"As you were," he said with a smirk. He then turned and addressed the crowd.

"It appears that this ordeal is more painful for the son of the Watchdog than even _we_  expected. You know what this means, don't you? Time to turn up the speed."

The onlookers responded with renewed applause and vigorous cheers. Selwin returned to his position behind Cyril, and without warning, resumed his flogging of the child. Every lash was merciless and carefully aimed, only a few seconds separating each one. The leather tail tore through the fragile skin, Selwin pausing only to take in the sight of how it was affecting Ciel...

Cyril screamed with every impact, his throat beginning to tear, blood dripping into his shorts and down his legs. When the boy received a few lashes in rapid succession, Cyril felt certain he was going to black out from the agony. He gasped for breath in between sobs. His legs were now too weak to support his weight and he began to hang limply from his shackled wrists, the cold metal digging into his skin. Through the haze of blinding pain, Cyril kept refocusing on his brother. He couldn't see him, but he could feel him, and that alone gave him hope...whether it was hope of survival, hope of not going mad, hope of rescue, or hope of an afterlife without pain, he did not know, but he latched onto it. He knew he wasn't going to stay conscious for much longer, but he wanted his final thoughts to be of Ciel, and only Ciel.

Ciel was held up again so he'd have to watch, hot tears streaming silently as he felt anger course through him. He kept staying strong and talking to Cyril as clearly as he could in his head. Each snap of the whip, each crack, each new wound opening, Cyril's blood lying in a puddle at his feet, Ciel felt whatever strength he had left slip away. He cried. He was going to watch his brother die and be left alone here in this horrible place. He wished for death, he wanted it if Cyril left him. He had failed. He failed mother and father, but most of all he failed his brother. He said he'd protect him and here he was shackled to a whipping post. And it was all Ciel's fault. He watched Cyril's legs go limp so he was held up by his skinny wrists, and he hoped there was a God, and a heaven, so Cyril could be with mother and father. God no, Cyril can't die. He prayed for the first time in a long while.

The crowd was thoroughly enjoying themselves but the Phantomhive twins no longer heard them. It was all irrelevant noise. All that mattered was helping each other through this torture. The boys had never concentrated on each other so intensely, strengthening the connection between them...

Cyril couldn't scream anymore. He simply hung from the metal shackles, the force of the whip pushing his chest into the wooden post with every lash. He put all his remaining energy into maintaining the connection with his brother. His body was weak but his mind was strong, and he felt his brother's presence there. He was safe there. Nothing could harm him. There was only love and comfort in that sacred place. He no longer paid attention to the excruciating pain. He still felt it, but was now detached from it.

As the last of his energy left him, he sent one final prayer out to whomever might be listening, that if he did open his eyes again, that his brother would be there with him, whether that was here, or hereafter.  Wherever his brother was, that's where Cyril wanted to be.

"Ciel..." he whispered, and he slipped into the welcome, velvety blackness.

Selwin had noticed the boy's cries had stopped, but he hurled a few more lashes at the child for good measure before finally lowering his arm. As he caught his breath, he looked back over at Ciel on the floor. The look in the boy's eyes was beautiful, precious, broken. Selwin felt a rush of triumph. But he wasn't finished. He called out to the henchmen, who had watched the entire spectacle.

"Put that one back in the cage," he commanded, jerking his head lazily in Cyril's direction. Then he turned back to Ciel and walked over. Locke shifted slightly so Selwin could see the child's back. The skin had swollen red everywhere Selwin had struck Cyril. He shook his head in amazement. He knelt back down to get face to face with the distraught boy.

"As for you, Watchpup, I think you and your brother have spent a little too much time together. You could use some new accommodations..."

He looked up at Pryor, who was watching in horror. "To the post."

Ciel was grateful they were taking Cyril off the post, but he was worried. Cyril was unconscious and lying limply in the arms of the henchmen who carried him. He flinched outwardly when he saw them unceremoniously throw Cyril to the stone floor inside the cage, blood splattering off his back as they did. He could hear nothing from Cyril's mind, his brother didn't even react and it broke his heart. He laid there. Then he heard Selwin's comment and assumed it was his turn to be whipped. No, he couldn't, he had to take care of Cyril. They'd both die like this, from infection or blood loss. He struggled against Locke and another cultist who dragged his small, weak body toward the post. He was surprised though when they held his back to the post, wrenched his arms behind it and tied his wrists together. He winced at the pain and knew what they were doing. They were preventing him from caring for Cyril. Time went still.

He no longer heard the cultists, and didn't notice when his tears finally stopped streaming and the hooded figures left. He watched Cyril in the torch lit darkness, watching the rise and fall of the younger's chest and praying it wouldn't stop.

"Cyril please..." He said out loud, in a choked whisper to the silent room, not caring if any of the the other children heard him, if they were even still awake. "You can't die...not like everyone else. Please, just hold on."

A million thoughts ran through his head a second. If Cyril died...he'd want to die too. He already did. He'd have to volunteer for a sacrifice. What if they wouldn't kill him? He'd have to disobey so much he'd get hurt enough to die. Or he'd have to find a way to commit suicide. He wanted nothing more than to be with his brother, his parents.

If Cyril lived, he'd have to find a way to keep caring for him, make sure he wasn't hurt further. He had to find a way for them to escape. He had no tears left. He struggled, which only made the wood dig into his arms and give him splinters. He stayed awake until he was sure he'd pass out from exhaustion. The sun was surely rising, but he had to stay awake. If Cyril died while he was asleep he'd never forgive himself. Finally some of the other children began to wake, and he slipped into an unwelcome sleep plagued by the nightmares of his twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyril is whipped within an inch of his life and Ciel is forced to watch. Ciel is then tied to a post outside of the cage so he cannot be with Cyril or take care of him.


	14. Lifeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Understanding - Evanescence  
> • His Theme (Undertale) - Lizz Robinett  
> • I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Amy Lee

Cyril wandered through the darkness.  He couldn’t see anything.  Then, up ahead, sitting in a pool of light, stood a great stone altar, stark and cold. Cyril walked up to it and touched the cold stone. He didn’t understand.

“Where am I?” he said to the darkness. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.

“Cyril!” It was the voice of his brother. Cyril turned around and called out to him.

“Brother?  Ciel!”

“Cyril!”

Cyril looked all around him, straining his eyes to see anything.  Ciel’s voice seemed to be coming from everywhere. Then Cyril turned back to face the altar and he gasped in horror…

There lying on the cold stone, stabbed in the chest and covered in blood, was Ciel. Cyril stepped back, clutching his chest and panting.  He stared into the lifeless eyes of his brother.

“No…” he panted, hardly able to breathe.  “NO!!!”

This couldn’t be…it was his worst fear realized.  He shook his head, he would not accept it.  He turned away and ran, tears flying from his face…

He didn’t know how long he had been running.  It felt like a few minutes and a few hours all at once.  It didn’t matter; the image of his twin lying dead was fresh and raw on his vision.  Finally, he saw a great white light.  It was as though he was running through a tunnel.  There were others here as well, figures walking towards the light, but they were fuzzy.  Cyril could not make out any features.  He paused, not knowing what to do.  Should he go towards it as well?

Then he heard the voice again, faint at first, but then it got stronger.

“Cyril…Brother, I’m here…”

“Brother?” Cyril called out, wanting desperately to see his twin.

“Please come back…please…”

“Where are you?!”

Cyril felt like he was being pulled up through a tight, enveloping darkness; not painful, but uncomfortable to experience.  Nonetheless, he held on.  He closed his eyes tightly and held on, not knowing what was going to happen.

* * *

Awareness and feeling suddenly returned to Cyril.  He opened his eyes and took a deep breath.  He was disoriented at first but then became more aware of his surroundings.  He was being held.  He reached out and grabbed the clothing of the person who was holding him.  It was Ciel.  Cyril almost couldn’t believe his eyes.  He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, the nightmare still fresh in his mind.  Then, the pain returned.  His back stung all over.  His lashes had been bandaged and his shirt had been returned.  He was still trying to make sense of everything.  He let out a cry of pain and clutched his brother tightly.

Ciel was holding Cyril's other hand and held back the tears at how in pain his brother was. He had Cyril half in his lap, one arm holding him gently so he was resting against his chest without much pressure being put onto his back. Ciel had been holding him for hours, since the minute he'd been allowed back into the cage. He had been untied and ran back to their prison to make sure Cyril was still alive. And he hadn't let him go since.

Ciel felt it, he could feel and see physically that his brother was in pain and sick. His skin was pale from blood loss, his wounds still bleeding but only very slightly, red staining his bandages. Ciel hadn't been able to hold his twin for twenty four hours, the fear racking up inside him every minute that Cyril would die. His own eyes were sunken with sleep deprivation, his stomach empty and aching and growling. He could barely talk due to all the sobbing and begging he'd done and with how dry his throat was. For the full day and night he'd been tied to the post, Ciel had not been given food, water, or even a chance to relieve himself. His shorts were still damp and his mind blank with hunger and humiliation. But he didn't care, he was back with Cyril. He would continue to hold him until he knew he was better or until he died. He had no more tears but wanted to sob. Cyril could die and he could do nothing about it.

"Brother?" He asked again in concern as Cyril cried out. "Don't worry, I'm here. You're going to be okay..."

Cyril had never felt so weak.  Even when he had been bedridden at home from his asthma, he had felt stronger, and he always knew he would come out of it alright.  But this was different.  He hadn’t had food or water in over a day, which only exacerbated his already malnourished state.  He had been flogged mercilessly by the man who had used his brother as a toy, and he was still bleeding. His vision was still blurry and he felt like he could pass out again at any moment.  He was glad to see his brother was with him, and alive, but he was scared.  The familiar wave of hopelessness that he had felt occasionally throughout the past few weeks threatened to engulf the boy completely.  He saw no way out of this, no path at all…only pain, starvation, and death…and he felt that his time was near…

“Brother…” he said in a weak voice barely above a whisper.  He tilted his head up to look into his twin's eyes, which faded in and out of focus. “I…I’m sorry…I don’t think…I can…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it.  There was so much he wanted to say to his brother; how much he cared about him, how grateful he was to him for always protecting him, and how terrible he felt that he would have to leave him…that thought alone broke his heart.  He didn’t want to leave him…

Tears filled Cyril’s eyes and he buried his face into Ciel’s chest.  He opened his mouth and whispered the only words he could think of that weren’t riddled with doubt and hopelessness.

“I love you.”

Ciel watched Cyril and choked out his reply. "No...no, please don't." He begged, holding Cyril close and hugging him as tight as he could without hurting him. He started rocking back and forth. "Please, Cyril. You can't go...I know it's hard but please. Don't leave me all alone."

He was sobbing again, holding his brother close. He could feel the blood from Cyril’s back on his hand from the leaking bandages and on his shorts still from where he'd been sitting in it the previous day. There had been so much of it...

"We've made it this far, you can't give up. You can't die. Please!" He leaned down and touched their foreheads together, nuzzling against his brother's face. He couldn't die. His chest was tight, heart pounding like it was going to leap out of his chest. He was panicking. What could he do? Nothing. His brother was dying and he could do nothing but hold him.

So why make Cyril feel worse? He knew he must be scared. Dying sounded scary. And if he couldn't save him then he'd comfort him, but that was hard to do. "It'll be okay...I promise. It'll be okay." But promises meant nothing. He had promised to protect Cyril and look where that promise had gotten him.  "Everything will be okay..."

Cyril closed his eyes as Ciel pressed their foreheads together, reveling in the soft touch, their tears caressing each other. They stayed like that for a moment, face to face. Then, Cyril thought he heard voices calling for him, but he was sure it was in his head. He didn't mention them, too weak to speak. They wanted him to come with them but Cyril didn't want to. They were soft, pleasant voices, promising happiness and freedom from pain. Why did they have to be so tempting?

His eyes still closed, Cyril's eyebrows contracted and he shook his head slightly, almost as if he was having a nightmare. No, he wouldn't die, not now. He refused to leave Ciel alone.

"My brother needs me," Cyril mumbled to the voices. He struggled with himself for a moment, essentially fighting to stay conscious...and then he opened his eyes. He looked directly into his brother's face, now perfectly in focus. Cyril was panting as though he'd been running and he was sweating slightly, but his gaze was focused and determined.

"I will not die," he said weakly but clearly. And he knew it. He had decided it. He could not leave the one person who had given so much to him, suffered so much for him. He felt like he owed it to him to live, to protect, and to fight alongside him. His brother needed him now more than ever...and Cyril would endure anything to remain by his side.

Ciel heard his brother's determined voice and gave a small laugh through the tears. He wished he could believe him, but looking at Cyril, he didn't look like he’d make it long at all. He was sweating and bleeding and could barely breathe. But if he thought he could fight then Ciel would help him. He would help Cyril like he promised and help him to live. He helped roll Cyril gently to his stomach so there wouldn't be any pressure on his back. Kissing his brother's forehead and holding his hand, he kept an eye on him, making sure that when they brought water he helped Cyril drink it, and dabbing his sleeves in his own water to press to Cyril's forehead. He helped him eat and kept him as clean and in as little pain as possible.

To Ciel's utter surprise and delight, Cyril made it through four more days, and his back healed slightly, enough for him to sit up on his own and eat. They hadn't been subject to any more experiments for now and they sat waiting anxiously every night. Cyril was healing despite still being in a lot of pain. The food and water, inadequate though it was, helped tremendously. Ciel had to remove Cyril's blood-stained bandages after a while but did not have any new ones to dress his wounds with, so Cyril had only his shirt for protection. At one point, Ciel used his own drinking water to clean some of the lacerations. By this day, the smaller wounds were just beginning to close, so the boys could only pray that none of them got infected.

The fourth night came and the chamber was filled with torch light. The chanting began, signaling a sacrifice was going to take place that night. A thick tension filled the air. The chanting went on longer than usual. Was something different happening tonight? Suddenly, the chanting stopped and all of the children held their breath. A path cleared among the assembly of cloaked figures and the unmistakable silhouettes of Pryor and Selwin made their way to the center of the circle, torches in hand. Pryor spoke first.

"Thank you all for attending this special ceremony. We have an amazing turnout tonight! As you know, we have been preparing this ritual for a few weeks, and we think our lambs are now ready to meet our great king."

Cheers rang out through the chamber, excitement building among the cultists. Selwin stepped forward.

"Tonight, we not only see the end of the Phantomhive Watchdogs, but we also present our noble beast with a prize offering! And we shall be rewarded handsomely! For if we do our part, and if our dark king is satisfied with the gift we shall give, he will send one of his disciples to reward us!"

More applause. Ciel was suddenly terrified. The end of the Watchdogs? That meant either both of them or just he would die. Either way, it was scary. Horrible. He started hyperventilating and holding Cyril tightly. He had tears that he wanted to cry, but wouldn't just yet. Cyril hugged his brother close in the back of the cage. He was terrified as well, but not of death. Death would provide respite from this wretched place. No, he was terrified of losing Ciel, being forced to part with him. What if they took him to the altar? No, that couldn't happen. He would fight. He would do whatever he could to protect him...

More chanting ensued, and then Selwin spoke again, arms outstretched. He looked ghostly with his mask on. The other cultists continued to chant as he spoke.

"Hear us, our King! We call out to you, your humble servants! Tonight, we present you with a supreme offering, the most precious of lambs!"

Selwin nodded to someone off to the side. Then, the two henchmen came into view, walking straight to the twins. The cage was unlocked...


	15. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Like You - Evanescence  
> • My Immortal - Evanescence (Original Version)  
> • No Light, No Light - Florence and the Machine  
> • Dead Boy's Poem - Nightwish  
> • In Chains - Shaman's Harvest

Ciel was clutching Cyril with all his strength. The henchmen ducked inside and grabbed Ciel as he started to scream. "No! Don't take me away! Cyril!"

The henchmen began to drag Ciel out of the cage and Cyril followed him forward, small hands coming up to clutch the top of his arm, holding onto his brother as tightly as he could. While Barnard picked up Ciel, the other man grabbed Cyril around the middle and pulled him backward, the wounds on his back getting brushed through his shirt painfully. Cyril cried out as his brother was ripped from his grasp. The man holding him then dropped him onto the floor and left the cage. They continued to carry Ciel's body, kicking and screaming, to the altar and slammed him down onto it.

"Ciel!!" Cyril screamed. He scrambled over to the front of the cage, reaching through the bars in desperation, his cheek pressed against the cold steel. The henchmen let Ciel go for a single moment to reposition him flat on the table and he moved to crawl across it. Someone put a hand on his head and one on his lower back to force him down, flipping him over, and positioned him on the table spread eagle. Pryor held out his hand for the dagger.

"No! Please!! Not my brother!" Cyril was stunned. It had happened so fast. "No!! Please, I'll do anything!"

But the child's cries fell on deaf ears. Ciel was struggling against the men holding him down on the altar. He lifted his head up and Cyril could see his face for a moment. Selwin presented the elaborate dagger to Pryor and then moved to the boy's head.

"Let me go!!" screamed Ciel, fighting with all the strength he could muster. Selwin smiled down at the struggling boy and covered his mouth. He was beautiful when he was like this, distraught and vulnerable. Selwin would remember this one fondly, and the glorious way he had broken the son of the Watchdog. Such a fitting end...

Pryor raised the dagger high above his head as the chanting sped up and increased in volume, the chorus of voices ringing throughout the chamber. The panic in Cyril's chest reached its peak. Flashes of the nightmare he had had while unconscious appeared before his vision; blood everywhere...and his brother's sightless eyes...

Ciel stared at the dagger above him, his mouth covered to muffle the shrill scream he let out. He was terrified of death, and the last thing to meet his ears was Cyril's cry that matched his own. And the dagger met his chest. Pryor brought it down and plunged it in deep, blood splattering from the wound and out of Ciel's mouth, the most horrific sounds escaping his body. The metal rested between his ribs, through his sternum just below his heart. It was so much pain so quickly that all he could do was listen to his bones crunch and feel the tip of the metal dagger touch the marble of the altar beneath him. Selwin lifted his hand, and his face was the last Ciel saw before his vision began to fade. He coughed once more and blood came from his mouth. He went completely still, wide eyes devoid of light. With his death, he had failed for a final time in keeping Cyril safe.

"CIEL!" screamed Cyril through the bars.

He broke. The ear-piercing scream that was ripped from his tiny lungs was one of unimaginable horror and agony. He was on his knees, clutching the bars with both hands, his head down between them. His heart had been impaled, shattered beyond repair. He was completely alone...and he wanted to die. Right then and there, he would have given anything, even his soul, to have his brother back, to escape, to make these wretches pay for everything they had done to them...

The room suddenly went silent. The chanting stopped, and a cold mist and feeling of dread fell over the room. Every torch went out to plunge the room into darkness. Cyril had become so numb that he almost didn't notice the room changing, but the cold mist made him lift his heavy head a little. What was happening? Cultists gasped, some in fear, some in triumph. They knew what was coming. A purple light began to emit from the center of the room, just behind the altar and rested over Ciel a moment before drifting away. It met the floor in front of the cages, and from the mist a high heeled boot stepped with a click onto the stone, followed by another, the flick of a pointed tail following. The torches were relit, dimly lighting the room. The purple mist turned into a black cloud that flitted about as though a million tiny wings danced around the edges. Then, a pair of glowing red eyes with cat-like pupils opened, settling upon the sight before them.

 ** _"Well, well..."_**  It sounded as though several voices were speaking at once. **_"What have we here?"_**

"We knew you'd come!" An overexcited cultist said, stepping forward. "You're here to reward us! Give me everlasting life, fortune!" He sounded so delighted, but the voice responded.

 ** _"No,"_  **and the man was thrown backwards by an unseen force. The boots clicked closer to the cage Cyril was in. A full form could now be hazily made out in what the children could only call black smoke. Long arms and legs that twisted into leather-like clothing, and wings. Clawlike fingers pointed to Cyril. When the figure spoke, a chill ran down the boy's spine.  _It's this one. **"You."**_

Cyril was terrified, but at the same time drawn to the entity. He had no idea what or who it was, but nonetheless, he lifted up his hand and reached out through the bars for it. He felt a strange indescribable fearlessness in reaching for the stranger, who resembled neither man nor beast. He had lost everything, including his brother. Subconsciously, Cyril felt like he had nothing left to lose...he might as well be dead already...

The demon stared at the boy reaching for him, not knowing exactly what to do. He did not take the boy's hand just yet. The cultists behind him cowered and waited for his next move, his next word, as though he was god.

 _ **"You have summoned me here. I can never be changed once you've made your decision. I am to be at your every beck and call should you decide you want me. But in return, once your wishes are all granted, I shall receive your soul. Do you wish this upon yourself?"**_   Surely this child would not understand. He did not expect the answer he received.

Cyril breathed heavily, eyes wide at the great and terrible being before him. "My...wishes?"

Whoever this entity was, it was powerful, and apparently fully capable of delivering his every desire. He was shaking with anger and sorrow at everything he and his brother had suffered. He wanted power. He wanted justice. He wanted...revenge.

"I...I want...power..."

The cultists were confused. As soon as they realized what was happening, they began to panic.

_"Who summoned the demon?"_

_"Oi! Someone shut him up!"_

Cyril looked up and looked the demon straight in the eyes, tears still streaming down his face. "I want the power to take revenge on the ones who did this to us!!"

Before the cultists could protest, with a devilish smile within the cloud of smoke, the demon reached forward to take the hand of the small boy through the bars and complete the contract. As he grasped the boy's hand, he could feel his soul thrumming within him, through his pulse and coursing through his blood. He already knew what the boy's first wish would be, so the other arm that was unoccupied reached back to gesture to the cultists, who all suddenly screamed out like they were being burned alive, and one by one fell to the floor dead with the exception of Selwin and Pryor, who fell to the floor as though they were bound with invisible ropes and gags. The cultists would've only gotten in the way of the demon finishing the binding of the contract, so to get them out of the way first was a priority and a bonus for both demon and child. Now that there would be no interruptions, the clawed hand reached through the bars, a dark hand that felt both freezing and burning, placed itself over Cyril's right eye and began to carve the contract seal into it. Only...something stopped him.

He took a closer look at the boy before him, so tiny. So helpless. His soul glowed a brilliant blue and he could smell it, tantalizing, so pure and ripe. The demon's mouth was practically watering. But he noticed, on the edge of the soul, it appeared ripped, like a fine tapestry. He wasn't whole? There was another piece of his soul somewhere, and without the soul completely in tact, a contract could not be made.

A broken soul was extremely rare, and he wondered just what had been done to this child. He glanced around the room at the dead cultists before noticing something. The same brilliant blue glowed from the altar where the seemingly dead boy lay. The demon left Cyril, walking away from the cage, and stood over Ciel.

He had the same tear in his soul, but on the opposite side. This boy looked just like the other, identical apart from their hair which curled in opposite ways, and the blood on this one's shirt.

 ** _"I am to make a contract with you, an agreement that once I fulfill your wishes, your soul then belongs to me. But, it seems I cannot enter a contract with you alone. This one here,"_**  the demon gestured to the altar. **_"Must also make a contract. You will be connected. Both your souls will be mine. But you will have to make the decision for him."_**

Cyril stared at the demon aghast. Ciel had to make the contract as well? But how? Isn’t he…?

“He’s alive?!”

Cyril’s breath hitched in his chest and he could hardly breathe.  A thousand thoughts were racing through his mind, along with a new burden of responsibility.  If he made this contract, Ciel might live, and they would both have a second chance at living, along with a precious opportunity to take revenge for themselves and their family.  A demon’s power completely under their control. But he had to decide for Ciel.  Would Ciel want this?  If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea.  He knew his brother wanted them to be together no matter what, but he also knew that his brother wanted blood.  He would want revenge as much as he did.  But at the cost of their souls?

Cyril didn’t know what the future held with a contract with a demon.  He knew for sure, however, what would happen if he didn’t make the contract.  His brother would surely die, and it was likely that he himself would soon follow, perhaps suffering even more before finally succumbing to his injuries and despair.  Cyril did not want that.  He had decided.

“Demon! My brother and I will make a contract with you!”

The devilish grin returned and the demon nodded to himself, unbeknownst to the child who could not peer into the dark mist that was him. He stepped toward the cage again, reached out and gripped the lock on the cage before tearing it off, the door swinging open, allowing the small boy to step outside the cage willingly for the first time in over a month.


	16. Big Shoes To Fill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Wait For It - Hamilton (Leslie Odom Jr.)  
> • Lead the Fight On - He Is We  
> • Safe and Sound - Taylor Swift

_**"The more visible the seal is to other humans, the more powerful our bond will be. So...where would you like it?"**_ the demon sounded utterly sadistic as he brandished his fingers that ended in long claws.

"Anywhere. I want more power than anything else," was the boy's quick response as he braced himself. The demon placed his hand again over Cyril's right eye and began to carve. Cyril screamed as the seal of the contract was burned into his right eye. The excruciating pain ran deeper than a physical brand; it coursed throughout his entire being, the contract branding his very soul…

Once the demon removed his hand from his head, the boy fell to his knees, clutching his eye, blood pouring from between his fingers.  With the pain subsiding slightly, Cyril stood up, his legs shaking.  He lowered his hand, and slowly opened his eye, revealing the fresh contract mark, glowing violet in the semi-darkness.  He took a deep breath as he faced the demon, no longer frightened. The dark entity marveled at the beauty. His mark, placed beautifully on the tiny body, the beautiful glowing soul.

 _ **"Now,"**_   he continued, keeping the thought of the other boy in the back of his mind. He could collect the unconscious one later. _**"Who are you? I've never had such a tiny master before..."**_

“Cyril…Cyril Phantomhive.  The…second son of Earl Phantomhive.  My brother Ciel…will inherit the house…and the Earldom.” As he said it, the full weight of their current situation cascaded down on him.  They were going to get out of here, and return to their home, if it was still there…and his brother would become Earl Phantomhive.  It was much to take in…

 _ **"An earl?"**_   The voice spoke, chuckling darkly. **_"Then I must take the form of someone befitting the service of a noble family."_** as the demon stepped forward, the black smoke began to melt off of his body, the clicking of the high heels turning into the light thud of flat shoes. Gloved hands came up from the smoke to adjust the lapel of the tailcoat that now donned the tall, lithe figure of the man. His dark hair framed his face, cat like pupils dilating until his eyes appeared normal aside from their deep crimson color. With a final step forward, he stood before Cyril.

"Now then," the smooth voice said, like silk. "What shall we do, my little lord?" And with a hand placed over his chest, he bowed before the boy, now face to face with his master. The demon and his prey.

“What about my brother? Is he going to be alright?”

"I can do my best to take care of him." The demon assured. "After all, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

He walked to the altar and looked down at the boy, his breathing so shallow it was hardly noticeable. He took the cloak off of one of the dead cultists and tore it into strips. Taking off the older boy's shirt, he moved a rib back into place and wrapped his midriff with the cloth, creating a tourniquet. He had never cared for a wound this serious, but had the knowledge enough to do so. This would all be new to him. Once the boy was firmly bandaged as well as the demon could manage, he picked Ciel up, cradling him in his arms. His left hand rested just to the right of the existing brand. He might as well do it now. A seal identical to Cyril's burned itself into the flesh of the older brother. The boy was unconscious, and didn't immediately register the pain, save for a few labored breaths.

Keeping the boy safely cradled in one arm, the demon bent down to pick up two more cloaks. He handed one to Cyril to wrap around himself, and wrapped the other around Ciel as he held him.

"Now the only thing left to do before getting you home is to deal with these two." The demon smiled darkly, yet kindly? and gestured to Selwin and Pryor, who still lay bound on the stone floor.

Cyril glanced over at the figures, struggling against their invisible bonds and shooting amazed and frightened glances at the boy and the demon. Cyril had almost completely forgotten about Selwin and Pryor. He walked over to them and stared down at them with a cold, emotionless expression, the violet contract glowing brightly in the darkness.  The boy had never looked more intimidating.  The men tried to speak through their gags, but to no avail.  Hatred flared up inside the tiny body.  He wanted them to suffer greatly for their deeds, and so he delivered his final words to the men, who had put he and his brother through so much suffering.

“Checkmate. Burn in Hell.”

Cyril then turned away and gave his first order to the demon. “Kill them…in the most painful way you can manage.”

"Of course, master." The demon told him. All he had to do was glance at them before their would-be screams rang out. They were burning, melting from the inside out, slowly. With another glance, the locks fell from all the cages behind them and the demon nodded once to himself. Freedom awaited the Phantomhive boys, and he knew what Cyril would most likely desire next. With Ciel in his arms, the demon butler strode towards the staircase and the metal door that had been impossible for them to pass for four weeks, and would now lead them to freedom.

Cyril walked with a stony expression and a determined stride, ignoring the pain in his back, the demon butler alongside him. He would not even think about resting until he was out of this place and headed home. And even then, he had to care for his brother and ensure he made a full recovery. Nothing was guaranteed, except that he now had a demon's power at his disposal. In this moment, he feared nothing. He walked straight through the manor towards the front entrance, looking forward, paying no heed to any of the servants who crossed their path. If anyone disturbed their progress, the demon took care of them before they got too close, clearing the path for his new masters.

At last, they exited the manor and descended the stairs. Cyril's bare feet stepped onto grass for the first time in a month. He breathed in the fresh chilly air, and when he exhaled, his breath made fog. He didn't even mind how cold it was. He pulled the black cloak around him more closely and looked up at the twinkling stars. He had never appreciated them more. They were finally free.

Once the demon and his masters were several yards away from the building, Cyril turned to the demon and gave his next order.

"Burn it down. If any of the servants or children escape, let them be. Kill anyone else."

The demon looked down at his new master, loving his ferocity. A few maids were already escaping with children in their arms, all crying in happiness. It was only a few more minutes before the manor went up completely in flames, the demon still cradling the older twin, wrapped in the warm cloak emitting shallow breaths, skin pale.

The butler asked, "Where now, master? If you wish to go home, you'll have to give me some indication of where it is."

“The outskirts of London,” Cyril replied.  “That’s all I know. I don’t even know where we are now…I didn’t get out of the house much.  My brother would know more…”

The butler turned away from the boy for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Cyril stepped forward, grasping one of the tails of the butler’s tailcoat and tugging on it.

“Demon…what is your name?”

The demon turned around, looking down at the child. "I don't have a true name equivalent in the human tongue. You _can_ , however, give me a human name."

Cyril gave a weak smile, his first in weeks.  Dawn was approaching.  It would be the first time Cyril had seen the sun in the new year.  He thought for a moment about what he would be comfortable with calling the demon; something strong, something comforting.  And then, it came to the forefront of his mind, simply and clearly.  He looked directly into the demon’s eyes, which still looked intense, but more calm and somehow more human.

“Sebastian.  From today on, your name is Sebastian.  You will protect my brother and I, and never betray us until we achieve our revenge, you will obey our orders without question, and you will never lie.”

Sebastian gave a small chuckle, bowing his head. He would kneel, or place a hand over his chest, but cradling the other boy made him unable to do so. "Yes, young master. I shall never betray you, I shall never lie. I shall be by your side until the very end, no matter how long it might take or however soon that may come." He gave a small smirk of a smile. "Now, we should be getting you both home. You'll catch your death of cold out here."

While he began walking with the young Phantomhive boys, a question came to mind. "Was Sebastian the name of your previous butler?"

Cyril walked on next to Sebastian, limping slightly from the pain in his ankle and back. He shook his head. "No. That was our dog. He was killed along with our family on our birthday."

Sebastian first paused at the information that he had been named after a dog. He'd always found cats more...enjoyable in the human world. Dogs were so loud and rambunctious. Cats were serene and sly and soft. But the heavy information that followed made him ponder his new masters instead. These children had been through so much. From the state of their injuries to the smell of sex surrounding them and the manor. And this new information, their dog, their entire family  (so Sebastian assumed from the statement) had been killed on their birthday and somehow they ended up in the place he'd just destroyed. Even for a demon that seemed a lot for such tiny humans to endure. He brushed away any comments he had about the new name he'd been christened with.

Cyril nearly stopped in his tracks as it hit him. How long had it been? He had no idea. "What day is it? What month?"

"I believe..." Sebastian paused to think. "In your calendar it is January the seventeenth, 1886, and it is nearly five o'clock in the morning."

Cyril stared blankly into space, but managed to keep walking as they began to ascend a slight hill, the manor burning behind them.  The sun had just crested over the horizon.  The light drew the child’s attention and he turned around. The boy gave a small gasp.  It was a glorious sunrise.  There were a few wispy clouds in the sky and they caught the light in gorgeous pinks and golds.  How could something so beautiful still exist in the world?

Cyril blinked back tears.  January seventeenth…it had been over a month since their abduction…since their birthday…since they had lost their family.  They had missed Christmas and New Year’s Day, holidays that had brought so much joy to the twins in the past.  Such celebrations seemed small, petty, and insignificant now.  The world seemed a much colder, crueler place…and yet, here was this beautiful sunrise.  The sun warmed his face, and yet Cyril still felt empty.  Nothing made sense anymore.  He closed his eyes, and let the tears fall…

Cyril sniffed and breathed deeply.  He couldn’t mourn just yet.  He had to get his brother home safely and help him recover.  There would be much they would have to do.  He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve and turned his back on the sunrise…

Sebastian watched Cyril as he tried to remain strong, and once he'd had his moment, they began to walk again, travelling to a home the twins hadn't seen in over a month that didn't even exist anymore. It was a long time travelling before Sebastian realized the tiny master at his side had no shoes and was walking in the snow. His eyebrows scrunched together and he contemplated. Positioning the unconscious boy in his arm a little better, he reached down to scoop up Cyril to place him on his opposite shoulder, the boy dozing off while still wrapped tightly in the stolen cloak, arms clutching tightly to his demon's shoulders.

The journey was arduous, tiring for the small, malnourished boy, and nothing for the demon at his side who felt no fatigue. It was hours later that Cyril finally felt the dryness in his throat that came with the cold, heavy breaths he took as they walked. Sebastian found an old pair of shoes and stole them to place on Cyril's feet, having to tie them around his ankles several times to keep them on. He was letting him walk the short rest of the way to the manor. Cyril tugged at the butler's coat again, drawing his attention as he put a hand on his throat and requested, "Water?"

Sebastian did not have any water on his person, nor was there a town nearby where they could find a well or water pump, but they were surrounded by snow and lots of it. The demon once again positioned Ciel in one arm and knelt before the child. Pulling his left glove off with his teeth and tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, he scooped up a handful of snow and watched as it melted instantly in his hand. He offered the now liquid snow to Cyril, who looked at it as though it were an entire oasis in a desert. Water could come so easily now, and he didn't have to wait for it or go thirsty ever again. He held Sebastian's hand with his tiny one to steady it, despite there being no need for it, and sipped the water from it. This action was repeated several times before Cyril noticed the faintly purple mark on Sebastian's hand. Was this the mark they shared? The sign they were now one? He didn't question it, and satisfied his thirst before continuing on in the journey home.

It was another long while later when they reached a town on the outskirts of London. They crested over the final hill, onto the long pathway to the manor.

Black, charred, half-standing ashes. That was all that was left.

Cyril looked up in shock at the destroyed manor that had once been their home. It brought back so many memories of that night. He could still hear the roaring of the flames, the windows being blown out...could still see his parents and dog lying dead on the floor...

A thought occurred to Cyril in the haze of memories. There was a private cemetery on the Phantomhive grounds not too far away, and Cyril immediately set off for it. Sebastian was studying the damage to the manor when he saw his tiny master walking away. He followed with Ciel in his arms.

Cyril entered the old but well-kept graveyard and found what he hoped wouldn't be there. Four fresh graves, all lined up. The center two belonged to Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive. Glancing hesitantly to the grave on the right, he saw his brother's name and immediately looked away. He didn't even want to consider the possibility that the grave might still be used. Finally, he walked down the line a little and found his own gravestone. It was almost as though he was a ghost, looking down upon his own grave where his body was surely buried. Everything was so surreal that Cyril wondered for a moment if he was indeed dead and this demon was somehow his guide into the next world...

Cyril stood again before his parents' graves and let himself fall to his knees. He bowed his head. A cold winter wind blew and lifted his hair. The weight of everything that had happened since mid-December pressed down on the small child, his narrow shoulders shaking.

"Mother....Father...."

It was the first and last time Sebastian heard his master refer to his parents thus.

Cyril wept silently, letting the tears fall onto his lap. The sun had begun to set. They had been traveling the entire day and he was exhausted in every way. There was so much more to come but Cyril allowed himself some time to acknowledge the loss of their parents. He thought of Ciel, of how much was about to fall onto his shoulders as the surviving heir, assuming he survived...

Cyril pushed the thought away. He would have to manage the estate for a while, until his brother woke up. The boy simply sat there, trying to take it all in.

Footsteps were heard behind him, crunching in the snow. "I do believe we should go inside the manor, my lord. It's very cold and you both need your rest. And we must tend to your brother's wounds."

"Inside?" He heard the boy ask. There was no inside. There was no manor anymore. The demon smiled.

"I believe you'll find everything in perfect condition how you left it on your birthday." He assured. Upon walking back to the manor, Cyril would find the house completely rebuilt. Inside and out. Everything was perfect and beautiful.

Cyril looked up at the manor in amazement. He couldn't believe it. This was some cruel dream and he was going to wake up at any moment to find his home in ashes and all alone.

"How? How is this possible?" the boy asked breathlessly.

"I have repaired the house for you. You have a demon's powers at your disposal." Sebastian told him. "You'll find everything the same. Now, if you could lead me to the master's bedroom, I can see to you and your twin’s care.”

Sebastian opened the double doors and a spectacular sight met Cyril's eyes. Everything was immaculate. He was almost scared to walk inside. It would mean accepting all of this, and the responsibility that would come with it. The shoes that were too big for him hung heavy on his feet. He took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold of his home, brought back from the ashes.

"Welcome home, my lord."


	17. Their Butler, Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide: 
> 
> • To Build A Home - The Cinematic Orchestra

Cyril and Sebastian walked along the large black and white chessboard tiles, their footsteps reverberating throughout the grand entrance hall. The house was so empty and quiet that it seemed dead. All of the servants were gone. Cyril led the way up the grand center staircase to the second floor, walking towards their parents' bedchamber...their chamber.

Sebastian opened the door that Cyril stopped in front of. Not understanding the significance, he walked right in and laid Ciel on the bed, unwrapping him from the cloak they'd taken from the cult. Cyril hesitated at the threshold of the master chambers, watching Sebastian lay his brother on their parents’ bed.  His chest tightened at being back in this room, but without their parents present, and it felt strange and surreal to know that this was now his brother’s room. Ciel's body immediately turned cold when revealed to the room's chill, but he didn't shiver. Sebastian took off one of the gloves he wore to reveal his matching contract seal. He placed his hand on Ciel's forehead first, then his neck. He closed his eyes solemnly, determining what to do about the boy. He couldn't heal him to the extent he needed to get better, only heal him partways and keep him asleep until he was strong again. He began to unbutton the boy's filthy shirt from the cult.

Cyril nearly panicked, remembering what had happened in the cult anytime either of them had been undressed. The boy ran straight to the bed and grabbed Sebastian’s forearm.

“Wait! What are you doing?!” Cyril yelled, eyes wide and breathing heavy.

Sebastian looked at the small child gripping his arm in shock. He realized how traumatic their past had been in that place, and how this must've looked to the boy. "I must tend to his wounds, my lord. Without the proper care he could become very sick..." He trailed off, not wanting to tell Cyril that without it, Ciel could die.

He continued to unbutton Ciel's shirt and slipped it over his tiny shoulders, pulling it out from underneath him, laying it aside. He also removed the makeshift tourniquet. The skin underneath was pale, the wound bruised a dark purple around the gash from the dagger in the center of his sternum. Sebastian's eyes flashed to their normal bright demon red as he laid a hand over the wound. It healed some of the internal tissues, but couldn't completely close it. He was gone only a moment or two, quite literally, before returning to Ciel's side with a sewing kit. He took a needle and a stiff thread looped into it, before glancing at Cyril as though for permission or reassurance, and set to work.

But in the middle of the sewing, dark eyelashes fluttered and Ciel's face scrunched up as a breath of pain escaped pale blue lips. His head turned to the side, blue eyes opening blearily.

"Cy...ril?" Came a pained whisper followed by a wince of pain as the sewing continued. Sebastian couldn't stop now. "You're...here....too?"

His breaths came in short pants and heavy wheezes, occasionally a gasp at the tugging of the thread at his skin. He was so tired, so cold. His brain was moving too slow to form thoughts in his head and his eyes wouldn't focus but he could make out the ceiling of their parent's bedroom, the feeling of a soft feather pillow beneath him. He hadn't seen the demon, just felt the pain in every breath he took, the labored movements of his lungs and ribs, two of which were still healing from the cracks Selwin had caused. They were home.

"I'm glad...but," he wondered. "Why....is there still...pain? Where are...mo-mother and f-father if this is..." He stuttered out as he shivered once, hand moving slowly and blindly across the covers. He wanted his brother's body against his own for warmth and comfort.

Cyril gasped in surprise and delight as his brother woke, but then was immediately alarmed when he realized how much pain Ciel must be in. He grasped his brother’s wandering hand on the covers.

“Brother! I’m here…it’s okay, we’re home. You’re going to be alright.”

Tears stung the boy’s eyes as he held his brother’s hand in both of his, the rest of his body leaning on the side of the bed as Sebastian continued to sew.  He said the words to reassure himself as much as Ciel.  He wanted desperately for his brother to make it through, but had no way of ensuring it.  It was nerve-wracking.  All he could do was provide words and physical comfort while trusting in their demon butler’s abilities.

The sewing continued until Sebastian finished, tying the knot and biting it off with his sharp teeth before wrapping the wound in actual bandages he had acquired. Ciel was shivering from having to be uncovered halfway and Sebastian took pity on the boy and placed his gloved hand over his eyes to force him into a deep, dreamless sleep. Ciel's breaths were still ragged but came a little more evenly now. The demon butler covered him with the thick duvet and another blanket nearby before speeding off again. Back in an instant, he had a cloth and a wash basin full of water. As Ciel slept, he once again uncovered the boy who wore nothing under the covers but his shorts and the new bandages around his waist, not wanting to leave him cold for a moment longer than necessary. Dipping the cloth into the water, Sebastian warmed it with his hand before cleaning Ciel gently, one limb or small section of skin at a time so he wouldn't be too cold. Once he was clean he was wrapped again in several thick blankets and left to sleep. Sebastian with a hand over his chest, turned to Cyril who had been beside his brother the entire time.

"It's time we attended to you, young master. I believe you're in need of washing too."

Cyril did not want to leave his brother’s side but he knew there wasn’t much he could do now but let Ciel rest.  He would be constantly worrying about him until he got well enough, but he needed to take care of himself as well, and a bath sounded like the most wonderful thing at the moment.  He looked from his sleeping brother to Sebastian, and nodded.

Master and servant walked into the en suite bathroom.  Cyril became aware of just how dirty his body was…and then there were the lashes on his back that still needed to be cleaned and treated.  He shifted around nervously, knowing he would need to be undressed next.  This would certainly not be a relaxing bath.

Sebastian could see him squirming uncomfortably. He had to undress the boy to clean him and the wounds on his back, which the demon knew were there but hadn't seen yet.

"I can look away while you undress, young master. The water has already been warmed." And it was so, the bathtub was full and steaming; no wait. Sebastian already found himself wanting to succeed in looking after these children, he was not going to fail in this contract. These boys had been through so much, and their joined souls would fill him for a century, possibly longer. But these children...

He watched the small, nervous boy again, face and hands dirty and clothes stained with blood and dirt, among other things.

Cyril looked at the steaming tub and felt a rush of gratitude towards the demon.  He was able to quickly manage things that took humans many times longer to do; and he had just tended to his brother, who seemed a bit better. This, more than anything, made Cyril trust the demon a little more.

“It’s alright,” Cyril mumbled, looking down and rubbing his arm nervously.  “You can help. Be careful around my back.”

Sebastian nodded once, stepping closer. "Of course, my lord."

He knelt before the boy and unbuttoned his dirty shirt, peeling it off him very gently in the places where it was stuck to his back. He didn't touch them, not overly, pulling down his shorts before gesturing to the tub and holding out a single gloved hand to help the boy in, soap and cloth at the ready. Cyril winced as Sebastian slowly removed the shirt from his back, some of his wounds still open and sticky with blood and dirt.

As the butler finished undressing his emaciated frame, Cyril wondered how well his back would heal, and if he would have scars for the rest of his days. The child took the gloved hand and leaned his weight on it as he carefully stepped into the large tub. He recoiled at the intense heat, but slowly adjusted, and began to lower himself into the tub.

When the hot water entered one of the deeper wounds on his lower back, Cyril let out a cry of pain. He arched his back and straightened up so quickly that he stumbled, grabbing onto Sebastian’s arms to steady himself. Instantly, the memories of having been flogged and humiliated, along with the deep, intense agony that came with it, flooded back to the forefront of the boy’s mind and he couldn’t repress them quickly enough. They overwhelmed him and Cyril buried his face into his butler’s side, clutching his arms and clothing.

He hated this…everything from the painful memories and torture, to the humiliation and agony he was still enduring.  He hated being weak and helpless to do anything to keep his brother from dying.  He could not even enjoy a simple bath, something that had once been such an easy and regular pleasure.  He wanted to forget everything from the past month, but every little memory remained, stubbornly burned into his mind. In this moment, as he clung to his butler as though he were a lifeline, Cyril wondered if he would ever feel happiness again. The tears forced themselves out, and the child was too exhausted to even try to stop them.

The demon looked down as he was suddenly clung to, hearing the small sobs of his new master. He didn't know what to do. In all his years as a demon, he'd never taken care of a child before, let alone an injured, emaciated, and traumatised one. And that was the one who was conscious. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to help steady and hopefully comfort him, he knelt down next to the bath, now just below eye level with the boy. He wondered how to go about washing him. He couldn't make the weak child stand the entire time, but sitting fully in the bath would hurt him greatly.

"Master, I'm going to ask you to stand at first so I can wash you. If you get too tired I can assist you in sitting fully in the water." He said, softly and slowly, not wanting to upset the child further.

Cyril choked back his tears and tried to refocus on the present. His wounds needed cleaning so pain was unavoidable. The boy was too tired to think so he decided to go along with his butler's suggestion.

"Stand...okay...I can do that."

Sebastian avoided the wounds on his back as long as he could, washing his arms and legs, his chest, shoulders, stomach. He avoided more private areas that Cyril could wash himself.

Cyril savored the care he was receiving. He had almost forgotten what it felt like. The demon was a bit rougher in his washing than he would have liked, and the boy wondered if he had ever cared for children before. But he didn't complain, for compared to the torment he had endured at the hands of other adults for the past month, this was heavenly.

Eventually, the wounds on Cyril's back were one of the only areas left to wash. The child's legs were beginning to shake so he thought he would attempt to sit down fully in the water again.

"I can sit now," he said in a small voice.

Sebastian looked up from where he was kneeling before the child next to the bathtub. He nodded, knowing pain was in store for the child. His back was riddled in lashes. He took hold of the boy's hands so he could steady himself while lowering into the bath.

Cyril slowly lowered himself into the water, holding on to Sebastian’s hands.  As the now warm water entered his wounds, Cyril gave a sharp hiss of pain, but he was ready for it this time.  He only paused for a moment and then continued downward, breathing deeply in and out, scrunching up his face against the pain. Once he was finally sitting down in the water, he rested his forehead on his hands that were grasping his butler’s tightly, breathing raggedly.  The pain finally began to subside in the wounds that were completely submerged and the child sighed in relief.  The boy would need to lean back to submerge the lashes higher on his back but he allowed himself time to adjust first.  Just being able to sit in the water felt like a tremendous accomplishment.

The demon butler watched the small child with a feeling in his core he wasn't usually accustomed to. Was it pity? Something else? He'd learn as time went on with these children. It was his job as a contracted demon and now as a butler to give his master's every pleasure and whatever they desired, but he couldn't take the pain from this small child. He felt the weak grip the boy had on his hands and let him adjust to the water.

"You don't have to go any further, young master. Lean forward, I'll manage." The butler straightened his knees a bit so he was higher and leaned forward over the lip of the tub to reach behind Cyril. With the soapy rag in hand he dipped it into the cooling water and squeezed the soapy liquid out above the un-submerged shoulders. Once they were dampened, he ran the cloth over them as gently as possible while still cleaning them thoroughly so no infection would arise.

Cyril let out a hoarse cry as the soapy water ran  into his wounds.  He grasped either side of the tub with his hands, the cleaning of the lacerations almost as painful as the lashing itself had been.  He breathed through it all, trying to think of anything else, especially his brother…

Once the task of cleaning Cyril's wounds was finished, Sebastian took a clean cloth, the other now stained brown and red with dirt and dried blood, and began to wash the blood and grime from Cyril's face.

The boy was intensely grateful when Sebastian moved on.  Cyril closed his eyes as the demon butler wiped away the grime, and tried to recall the last time his face had been washed.  It was probably the morning of their birthday. Tanaka had washed both of them before dressing them for the day.  Their parents trusted only the old man with their children, and the twins loved him like a grandfather. Cyril wondered if Tanaka survived the attack on the manor, and where he was now…he would need to check with the hospital in London; surely Aunt Angelina or Aunt Frances would know.

The child’s heart sank.  How would he explain any of this to the rest of the family?  The very thought terrified him.  He didn’t want any of them to even see he and his brother like this.  Certainly they would want to know what had happened to them.  But would he tell them? Cyril reveled in the gentle touch of the butler’s gloved hands.  He opened his tired eyes and they met Sebastian’s as the butler finished cleaning the boy’s face. He didn’t want him to stop.

Sebastian's eyes looked somehow gentle, despite the power behind the sober expression. The demon taking extra care around the eye that was now purple instead of blue with the lilac outline of their contract seal against it. Cupping his hands, he poured water over Cyril's hair to dampen it and washed it gently, rinsing out the soap and pulling the stopper out of the tub.

"Do you need help getting out of the tub, my lord? Or shall I fetch night clothes for you?"

 “Help, please,” Cyril said in a small voice.  He was weak and exhausted and not completely confident in his ability to step out of the tub without slipping.  He wanted to be wrapped in warm towels, dressed in clean clothes and maybe finally eat a meal, though he was not certain that the kitchen had any food…

But Sebastian had rebuilt the manor so everything was the same as the day the twins were kidnapped. It was stocked with food from their birthday dinner, fresh deliveries for the winter, and the last of the garden greens that had been harvested before the frost. Not that Sebastian thought he'd need the food in the kitchens to make a meal. He lifted the boy carefully like a baby under his armpits to stand him on the tile and grabbed a towel. He wrapped one around the boy's waist and put another over his head and shoulders, starting to towel dry his hair.

Cyril swayed slightly after being placed standing on the bathroom floor, feeling dizzy.  As Sebastian toweled the boy dry, Cyril sighed at the feeling of finally being clean after weeks of living in filth.  He would never take such a glorious feeling for granted again. Then, the two heard a loud growl come from the boy’s stomach.

Sebastian slowly looked up at the boy and sighed, not in frustration but out of not knowing what to really do or think about it except to feed the boy after he was fully dressed.

"Humans' bodies can force them to be so impatient, demanding food constantly..." he said, almost to himself as he finished towel drying Cyril. He led the boy back to the master bedroom where his brother slept, night clothes already laid out for him on the duvet.

Ciel slept only half soundly. His head lolled from side to side every now and then, like he was having a nightmare. Every other breath caused him to flinch in his induced sleeping state from the pain it caused the wound in his sternum, the place where his body expanded as he breathed, something Cyril and Sebastian were both glad he was still doing. His forehead was now covered with strands of damp hair.

Sebastian placed an ungloved hand over the sleeping ten year old's forehead. Ciel had broken out into a sweat, and the butler hoped it wasn't the sign of an infection starting. He pulled the covers down from where they were tucked around Ciel's shoulders to halfway down his chest, so Ciel wouldn't get too cold, but so that he wouldn't be burning up either.

Cyril watched closely as Sebastian checked on his brother.  He was relieved that he was still breathing, but he also noticed the sweat on Ciel’s face.  He wanted to do nothing but hold his brother and comfort him through his nightmares, but his malnourished body told him he needed to eat now or he would be the next one unconscious. He could barely stand as it was, but Ciel needed food as well, and Cyril felt a stab of guilt knowing that he was about to enjoy nourishment at last while his brother had to go hungry longer. Cyril hoped that his twin would be able to eat soon.

Sebastian didn't know whether to feed the child in the bedroom or go to the formal dining room. He probably should start to teach the boys how to act in polite society; he was their tutor now and one of them was an earl and the other the heir, but first the child needed to be bandaged and dressed. He sat the younger twin on the edge of the bed and, using the same bandage roll he had used for Ciel, began to wrap Cyril's wounds. He was nearly covered in them completely, the bandages for the lashings on his back beginning just above his hips and looping over his shoulders. Sebastian also bandaged the eye that had bled when his mark had graced it so brutally, and the ankle that held bruises and scabs from the tight shackle that had bound the child over thirty days. Finally, he dressed Cyril in the white button-down nightgown he'd located in what he assumed used to be the twins' room, then wrapped a blanket around Cyril's shoulders and led him to the dining room, matching his large strides to the boy's small patters.

Master and butler entered the dining room, and for a moment, Cyril was not sure where he should sit.  He had always sat on either side of the dining room table, with brother to his left and father to _his_ left, who sat at the head of the table.  He thought for a moment that he should sit at the head, but decided against it. The head of the table belonged to his brother…

Cyril sat down in the seat just to the right of the head, Sebastian pushing his chair in.  He looked around and was amazed that it looked just as it had on the day of their abduction, as though nothing had happened at all. The whole experience was still very surreal to the boy.

Once the boy was seated in the chair with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, an array of fine china appeared before him, silver polished and glasses shining, before the table was suddenly full of rich and delicious foods. Freshly baked buttery bread, cakes and pastries dusted with sugar, salted and cured meats, the finest and spiciest curry, every fine food a noble could want. Sebastian felt this would suffice; Cyril could pick from the food what he wanted and the rest could be stored for the future or simply snapped away. Sebastian bowed slightly out of respect and stood behind Cyril, waiting as a butler should.

Cyril sat wide-eyed, taking in all of the scrumptious foods, a far cry from the awful slop he had been forced to consume for a month. His mouth was already watering, but a concern had been growing in the back of his mind, something that needed to be addressed right away.

"Sebastian, don't ever do anything like that again. Normal butlers can't rebuild a house overnight or prepare dinner without ingredients and time for preparation. If you continue like this, it will raise suspicion."

Sebastian thought for a moment on this. Of course, he didn't assume it would always be just he and the twins in the manor. They would most likely hire other staff, hold dinner parties, perhaps even balls or galas. Perhaps he should slow it down and be a bit more...human in his actions, only when necessary.

"Of course, my lord." He agreed, taking the first sentence as an order, since the child didn't understand yet about making orders, or just how closely Sebastian had to follow them. He stayed where he was so Cyril could eat and then be put to bed for much needed rest.

Cyril nodded and wondered where to begin with his meal. He decided to try a little bit of everything so he filled his plate with a piece from each platter. He then cut a small piece of meat and tried it. He nearly gagged. Washing it down with some water, he tried the buttered bread. It wasn't much better. All of the food before him was simply too...much...too rich and too spicy. His stomach growled with hunger, but his head was nauseous, feeling as though he would throw up if he took another bite of anything.

Cyril set down his fork, looking miserably at his plate.

"Is something wrong, young master? Is the meal not to your liking? I can prepare something else, though with your instructions it might take some time and I wouldn't want you to go hungry."

"It's too...heavy...spicy. I don't think I can eat anything." Cyril sighed. "I think I'll just go to bed," he said, despite his protesting stomach. He laid his napkin upon the table.

Sebastian looked down in slight worry. He followed the small child back to the master bedroom. Once there, he opened the door for his small master and pulled back the covers next to Ciel so Cyril could climb in next to him. Ciel's forehead was still slightly damp, his breathing slow but heavy, whimpering once every few minutes, either from the pain or any nightmare he might be having.

Once Cyril was settled, Sebastian had a thought. The young lord needed to have some sort of nourishment. He left the room, taking human length strides as instructed and going to the kitchens. He found milk in a pitcher in the icebox, and honey in the stores in a small glass jar.

The whole milk had a lot of calories and calcium, plenty of fat to start the small boy gaining back the weight lost. The honey was sweet, but not sickeningly so, and was good for the immune system. He poured the milk into a glass and drizzled honey into it, warming it with his hands for lack of time, and taking it back upstairs.

Upstairs, Cyril cuddled up on his side next to Ciel, pressing his forehead into his brother's shoulder, careful not to put pressure on his back.  The butler had excused himself for a moment, so he had left the lit candelabra on the nightstand.  The flames of the candles cast flickering light and shadow on the underside of the canopy of the four poster bed.  Cyril felt the sheets beneath him and the soft warm covers over him.  It felt strange to be back in a bed.  After laying on a cold stone floor for a month, everything felt extraordinarily soft.He watched his brother's breathing closely, waiting for the butler to return, and wondering what he had in mind.

Ciel suddenly calmed a bit, as though in his sleep, his brother's presence comforted him. His head thrashing and lolling back and forth slowed, if not stopped completely and his breathing was slightly less harsh, but still rough from not having had any water in nearly two days.

There was a small knock before Sebastian let himself in, only doing it out of courtesy. Setting the platter down on the bedside table, he picked up the glass from it and extended his arm to Cyril.

"Try this," he offered.

Cyril sat up carefully, wincing a little as he did so. He eyed the glass offered to him suspiciously, asking, "What is it?"

"It's milk, my lord, and it's warm to help you sleep."

Cyril then took it in his tiny hands. It appeared to be milk, as the demon said. He held it up to his nose and smelled it.  He sighed deeply. "With honey?"

"Surprisingly, yes." The butler affirmed, impressed but not surprised at the tiny noble's preference and sense of smell.

Cyril blew on it and took a small sip. The liquid went down easily, creamy and honey sweet, warming his body. Cyril closed his eyes in relief.  He sipped some more, savoring every bit. Once he had drained the glass, he handed it back to Sebastian. He wanted to smile, but found it difficult, as though his facial muscles had forgotten how to do it.

“That…was good.”

"I shall prepare it again for breakfast tomorrow, until you are well enough to eat proper solid foods." Sebastian said, a tad proud of himself. Having never cared for children before, he was lost, but felt he was doing rather okay. He set the glass back on the tray and arranged the covers over Ciel and Cyril.

"If that will be all, my lord." He bowed. "Might I go and familiarize myself with the entirety of the manor?"

"Yes," said Cyril, easing himself back under the covers, turning onto his side. "That would be -"

Cyril gasped. His leg had brushed up against his brother's under the sheets and he remembered.

"Wait! Ciel's leg is broken, I had forgotten...is there a way we can...fix it? It's been a few days..." Cyril hoped the demon knew how to handle it. He wanted his brother to be able to walk again.

Sebastian looked a tad concerned, his eyebrows contracting together. He pulled back the thick duvet and they looked at Ciel's leg. There was a bump in it where a bump shouldn't be. The bone was protruding slightly, and all around his entire shin was dark purple bruises. Ciel was also still in his shorts from the cult, which were filthy. Sebastian should change him before the twins both settled down for sleep. Placing his hand over the bone, Sebastian looked as though he were massaging Ciel's leg. He frowned.

"The bone has already started to set incorrectly, only a touch though. All I can do is...re-break the bone and put it in the right place. Then wrapping it tightly should suffice as long as he doesn't move his leg too much afterwards."

He looked at Cyril, knowing how the boy reacted to just him undressing Ciel, let alone essentially breaking one of his bones. He would need the boy's permission first. "I can do it while he's still asleep..."

Cyril's eyes widened in horror.

"Re...break it?" he said breathlessly. He didn't want to cause Ciel any more pain, but his leg did not look good. If it healed incorrectly, it would be worse. Cyril gripped his hair and grunted in frustration. Then he looked directly into Sebastian's eyes, his gaze serious. "Do you truly know what you're doing?"

"I've healed many people before, so in theory yes. But I've never done this on a child before." After all, Sebastian couldn't lie. "I shall be my gentlest, and make sure it heals correctly. Though I can't promise perfection."

Cyril took a deep breath. He was giving the demon more trust than he believed was wise, but taking his brother to the hospital would raise questions and waste more time.

"Alright," the boy permitted. "Please be careful..."

Sebastian looked at Ciel's sleeping face, still slightly damp from sweat, though less since he was uncovered now. Sebastian would work carefully but quickly so Ciel didn't catch a chill. He took the boy's shin in both hands, fingers almost wrapping completely around it with how skinny his legs were. Taking a deep breath, he applied pressure until a muted snap was heard, causing the younger of the two to cringe at the sound.

The blue haired boy on the bed gave a small cry of pain, but appeared to remain asleep until Sebastian began wrapping it. His eyelashes fluttered and wide blue eyes opened blearily again. Now that he'd slept some and wasn't so cold his vision was a bit clearer, though hunger and thirst blinded him metaphorically. He rasped out something he hoped sounded like 'water' to alert his brother he was awake, wondering why he felt hands on his leg that pained him immensely, information from when he was asleep still swimming through his head.

Cyril was holding Ciel's right hand, thumb brushing over the fingers he had wrapped in the strip of dirty cloth from his shirt, the makeshift bandage having long ago been lost in the cage. The bones there too were still healing; he'd have to mention those as well when Sebastian finished. Then Cyril heard his brother's voice.

"Ciel! It's me...can you hear me?"

Ciel looked toward Cyril, holding his hand with a weak grip. "Cyril..." He whispered hoarsely. "...water...."

Sebastian had water near the bed for during the night, and small cups. He poured some and handed the cup to Cyril.

"Here, give him this slowly. I'll finish wrapping." He nodded a bit of encouragement to his young lord while continuing wrapping Ciel's leg. When he wrapped a particularly sensitive area, Ciel cried out quietly in pain, squeezing Cyril's hand.

Cyril took the cup of water and knelt down on his knees by his brother. He hoped that Ciel waking up was a good sign. He carefully and slightly tilted his head up with his left hand, and tipped some of the water into his mouth with the other.

“Here you are…nice and easy…”

But it was anything but that. Ciel drank the water down greedily in large gulps, a few trickles running down the sides of his face. Thirst had consumed him, and once the water was gone his head fell back against the pillows. He was panting, and he licked his lips, getting every last drop. He'd gone without it all that time when Selwin had strapped him to the post, and then the past while they'd been travelling and he'd been asleep. Cyril frowned in sympathy at how thirsty his brother was, but was glad that he had finally been able to get hydrated. Ciel gave another wince as he felt Sebastian tie the bandages as he finished. The demon straightened.

Ciel's head turned to see the stranger by his bedside, which he still almost didn't believe he was in. He asked Cyril in a strained voice. "Who...?"

At Ciel's question, Cyril hesitated, wondering where to possibly begin and how much to tell.

"Uh...this is...er...Sebastian. He's our new butler. Tanaka and the others might be at the hospital but we haven't gone there yet. There is much to tell you, but it's best to wait until you're better..."

 _New butler?_ Ciel thought. They were home, and that was still hard for Ciel to believe. And somehow in that time Cyril had hired a new butler. How long had he been asleep? The house...it wasn't ash. It was here. This was all wrong. His brain was moving so fast trying to piece together everything. He was drawn out of his franticness by another stab of pain in his leg, where the bruised muscles were throbbing. He decided to think about everything later. Right now, he needed to get better and take care of Cyril, needed to protect him.

He looked up to his brother, the only person he wanted to be with. He looked clean, he'd had a bath. Ciel was glad. He could see bandages underneath the thin nightgown and remembered the whipping. Cyril's arms were still covered in bruises and scratches. His face too, along with more bandages. He frowned, looking at it. What all had happened? Ciel thought he should be dead, for all his failures, and the wounds he'd sustained which shouldn't have allowed him to live. And here was his brother, perhaps worse off than him. His back, he'd always have gnarled scars, and now his eye? Ciel reached up with a shaking weak hand, struggling to keep it up. He touched Cyril's face gently, like he was making sure Cyril was real, along with all the unbelievable things surrounding him.

Cyril saw the confusion in his twin’s eyes.  He placed his hand on top of Ciel’s hand touching his cheek, and gently moved his brother’s bangs out of his face with his free hand. He was so grateful to have him, so grateful he was still alive. There would be much to explain, but it wasn’t the time for that.  Now was the time for rest and recovery, and simply savoring one another’s presence. Cyril teared up, overwhelmed with relief to have his brother back, snatched from the edge of death itself.  His tears fell on Ciel’s hand.  He glanced over at Sebastian, and managed a small, tearful smile.

The demon glanced at the boys from his place next to the bed, having just finished wrapping Ciel's leg. Ciel kept staring at Cyril, so happy his brother seemed to be, for the most part, okay. Still healing, but home, where he would no longer be abused or raped or malnourished. Ciel would endure a lifetime of that if it meant Cyril would never have to again. He felt his twin's tears against his hand and felt his own welling up. He couldn't cry, he was the strong one, but he was so so happy Cyril was alive.

Cyril sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve.  He looked back at Sebastian. "How's his leg?"

"It's set properly now, my lord. All it needs now is to heal, and remain still until it begins to set again." He advised, still standing a few steps back from the bed so he wasn't an intruding presence.

Ciel still stared up at his twin, hardly hearing Sebastian, just wanting to be with Cyril, to hold him, to hear him speak more as he'd done so little  in the cage. His thumb rubbed back and forth on Cyril's cheek before trembling harshly and falling back into Cyril's lap, too weak and tired to keep it up.

Cyril sighed in relief at Sebastian's words. “Good. Brother needs food too. Bring him some milk and honey too, please.”

He picked up his brother’s fallen hand and held it once more in both of his own, running his fingers gently over Ciel’s. “You’re going to be alright.  I will see to it.”

Ciel looked so tired; but he heard the mention of some kind of food different from the slop he was now used to. He tried to stay awake, wanting something to fill his empty belly before he fell asleep again.

"Stay awake just a little longer, brother. Sebastian's going to bring you some warm milk and honey. It was the only thing I could manage to eat, so maybe it will satisfy you for the night too."

When Sebastian returned with the milk, Cyril tilted Ciel's head up again, and helped him drink the warm liquid.

Ciel drank the sweet milk slowly this time, trying not to upset his stomach. He got full fast, not used to a lot of food anyway, and the warm milk made him even sleepier. He pulled away from the glass when he was about two-thirds done and thanked Cyril, too tired and full to continue. He didn't let himself or his pride be hurt by the fact that Cyril had to take care of him. It would only be for a little while, then he would care for Cyril again. He briefly registered the name of their new servant. Sebastian, like their dog? He remembered their dog was gone. Their parents too. He decided not to think about it, but that was hard. Sniffling once, he fell back to sleep. Though without the aid of the demon, it wasn't deep and restful as they'd find out.

After Ciel fell asleep, Cyril remembered to mention his brother's hand to their caretaker, the demon giving them another concerned look as he'd done with every new injury brought to his attention. He wrapped Ciel's fingers as well, and stayed in the room until the job was finished. Then, bowing, he asked if he was done with his tasks for the night.

Cyril nodded. "Thank you...for everything. We'll see you in the morning."

Cyril felt slightly awkward. Just a month earlier, the boys never needed to talk to the servants much, at least not when it came to running the household. Their parents always handled everything and there had been a thick hierarchy of servants before. But there was no one left now. It was simply them...and their new butler.

Cyril crawled back beneath the covers, careful to not rub his back against anything. He turned onto his side, facing his sleeping twin. Sebastian once again pulled the covers the rest of the way up to the boy's shoulder. Cyril looped his arm around his brother's and fell asleep almost immediately.


	18. Applesauce

The twins' slumber was disturbed by nightmares and pain. They were back in the cage, shackled to the bars with no escape. Licentious adults in masks leered at them; shadows of men loomed tall in front of the only exit of a very fine bedroom, blocking their way out. Flesh pounded painfully into their own...no escape... They were at the center of a thick circle of merciless onlookers, passed around and humiliated...no escape... Each watched as the other was branded with a white-hot iron, pain beyond imagining. When would it ever end? The only thing that gave them a reprieve from such terrors was being awoken by various pains in their bodies; Ciel by the healing tissue in his chest and newly re-broken leg, and Cyril by the wounds in his back. They would then hold each other as close as they physically could and drift back off to sleep.

Their dreams remained connected, each boy walking through the other's mind as they imagined the same horrible things in their uneasy rest. But while Cyril dreamt of all the cultists, Ciel, in his dreams, only ever ran from Selwin. He didn't know the man was dead; didn't know Pryor, who had hurt his brother, was dead. In his mind, they could still come for them, take them back to the cult he didn't know had been burned to ash.

In the inescapable prison his mind seemed to form, Selwin stepped closer to Ciel. Ciel tried to run and found his broken leg still pained him. And when he fell, he fell face down onto the silken sheets of a bed, hands immediately gripping his hips so hard he could feel the bruises forming on them, and feared they'd be there when he woke. _When he woke..._  but now he was asleep. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake with frantic shouts to himself to "WAKE UP! PLEASE!" as he felt his shorts being tugged off and the tip of something being pressed against his entrance.

With a loud trembling gasp, he sat up in bed with wide eyes, breaths heaving and heart racing. Then, a shooting pain shot through his core and he fell back onto the pillows, hands immediately coming up to press to his wound and put pressure on it.

Cyril awoke at the sudden gasp and movement. "Brother!"

He propped himself up on one arm as he looked his brother over. He was drenched in icy sweat, his hair stuck to his face. Dawn was approaching. The faintest light in the sky outside could be seen through the curtains in the otherwise dark bedroom. "It's okay, you're safe. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. They're all gone." He placed a hand gently on Ciel's shoulder.

Ciel reached up with one of his hands to grip Cyril's, breathing heavy with eyes still darting around like he was expecting an attack. Cyril gripped Ciel's hand in return and laid back down while his brother tried to slow down his own breathing. He was in their parents' bedroom, he was with his brother. They were together. He looked at Cyril, one hand still pressed tightly over his stab wound. Cyril wished he could do more for his brother, take all of the nightmares and pain away. He hoped they wouldn't have to deal with them for long.

Their future was uncertain. Would the remaining family members allow them to stay at Phantomhive manor and manage it on their own? Or would their aunts force them to move in with one of them? If Ciel was to be a proper Earl, there was much that he would have to learn. Perhaps they could have a governess teach them. Cyril did not know the extent of Sebastian's knowledge, but being a demon, maybe he could help as well. All of these matters swarmed in Cyril's head as he lay, holding tight to his recovering twin, whose breathing was still shaky. Could they really become Earl and Lord Phantomhive and manage the household on their own? That remained to be seen.

And Ciel didn't want to deal with this alone. He needed Cyril with him. He thought some of the same thoughts. What if Aunt Frances or Aunt Angelina wanted Cyril to stay with them, and he had to stay here in the manor to be the Earl? He didn't want to think about being separated from Cyril after so long of fighting to stay together. Clutching Cyril's hand as tightly as he could without hurting either of them, other hand still pressed to his wound, he fell back asleep, still shaking slightly in fear.

* * *

The sun crested over the hills of the Phantomhive Estate. Sebastian explored the manor throughout the night and morning, familiarizing himself with everything, checking in on the brothers occasionally since the demon himself had no need for sleep or the food of humans. He also perused the books in the extensive Phantomhive library, reading up on the customs and interests of the family, though he was already well aware of the expectations of English high society. He let the twins sleep through the morning. Sleep, after all, was the best medicine for humans. There would be much to do once they woke.

Ciel woke to a slight aching pain in his abdomen and saw Cyril sleeping next to him. He was glad his brother was getting some sleep, which as far as he could tell, was undisturbed by night terrors for the moment. He could barely feel his arms he felt so heavy from sleep, and he felt the pain in his leg when he tried to move. His stomach was empty, and his throat dry.

Cyril moaned in his sleep. He was laying on his stomach with his head turned to his right, towards Ciel, with his right hand curled next to his face. He had found during the night that sleeping on his side risked him turning on his back too easily, which caused a great stinging pain in his wounds that woke him up. Laying on his stomach was going well, but he was still plagued by the remnants of a nightmare. He muttered incoherent words in his sleep, beginning to twitch slightly.

Ciel reached out to touch Cyril's face comfortingly. He wished he could take his brother's nightmares away and protect him from everything, but he'd learned the hard way that it was impossible. The elder also noticed how hard it would be now to hold his brother until they were both better, with him unable to move his leg or stomach without causing pain and laying flat on his back, while Cyril had to remain mainly on his stomach or he'd hurt the lashings he'd received. Ciel still felt anger boil inside of him for Selwin when he thought of the scars his brother's back now held. He vowed to himself he'd track the man down and make him pay. But how could he ever look Selwin in the face? He'd be ashamed to, he would be terrified after the trauma he'd suffered at his hand. His heart began to race after just thinking of seeing the man again.

Cyril moved slightly at the soft touch, still murmuring in his sleep.

"Brother..." he muttered, eyes still closed. Then, his eyes slowly fluttered open. He could not see anything with his right eye, as it was still covered in the bandages. It felt achy and he hoped he would still be able to see with it once the bandages were removed. Cyril's left eye slowly focused on Ciel, who was looking at him. He rubbed his eye sleepily with his hand. He looked closely at his brother, and then wondered if the past day had been all a dream. Had they really been rescued from certain death by a demon? And did he and his brother really have a contract with said demon?

Dread washed over Cyril as he stared into his brother's eyes. Ciel had not been able to agree to the contract, and Cyril would have to tell him about it thus, along with the myriad of other extraordinary things that had transpired. He broke his gaze and looked down at Ciel's shoulder.

'Good morning' was too mundane of a thing to say, something that feigned normalcy. But then Ciel asked, "How are you feeling?"

Cyril looked back into his brother's eyes. How _was_  he feeling? Cyril considered the question. Physically, he felt stronger, though still in pain. Otherwise, he felt conflicted. At the moment, he was glad to simply hear his brother's voice, considering the fact that Ciel had been on death's door just one day before, and still could be. He was grateful that they were both alive and home at last. Part of him felt that they had won against their captors. They had been given freedom and the chance at revenge with a demon's power behind them. However, there was still the loss of their parents, their dog, as well as most of their dignity and innocence. There was also the eventual cost of their freedom and power; they would have to pay with their connected souls. Cyril did not want to think about the weight of that cost just yet, so instead, he focused on their victory.

"Alright, I suppose. Better than yesterday. A little hungry. How about you?"

Ciel nodded, understanding. "Hungry," he agreed, he'd eaten less than Cyril and been asleep longer. He still didn't even know what day it was. "It hurts still...here." He put a hand gently over his wound. His leg pained him as well, but he didn't know if he wanted to admit all the other pain he was having when Cyril was surely feeling worse. He wanted to make sure Cyril was taken care of.

Cyril nodded. He did not know what time it was but did not care much. Part of him wanted to sleep more, having not had the most restful of nights, despite the comfortable bed. Cyril noticed that the sheets still smelled like their parents. The pillow he slept on smelled of almond and coconut, the oil Mother had sometimes rubbed into her hair to make it shine golden. He would bury his face into the hair on her shoulder when filled with jealousy and guilt, something that happened quite often before his and Ciel's kidnapping, whenever father took Ciel to an important party to meet nobles and he had to stay home, either from sickness or lack of importance. Mother and her stories and the smell of her had been something that comforted him, but now it tore at his heart.

His stomach growled. He wanted to eat more than anything else, so he decided to get up. He hoped that it would be easier to eat today. Cyril slowly sat up, wincing a little. He sighed. "We should call Sebastian. He'll bring us some food..."

Ciel nodded, unable to sit up without hurting himself. He glanced down at his chest where it had been hurting and noticed the reason he was having so much pain. There was a small pool of blood on the front of his white nightshirt. He must've torn his skin on the surface a small bit when he sat up too quickly from his nightmare.

"Cyril..." He said quietly, tugging weakly on his arm, the weak tug all he could manage. "Food...and more bandages."

Cyril had not seen the blood until Ciel moved the coverlet down. He gasped and then scrambled to find the bell cord that would ring the servants' quarters. He found it hanging on the wall on his side of the bed and he prayed that it still worked.

"Sebastian!" yelled Cyril, pulling on the bell cord urgently. He did not know how bad the wound was and didn't want to take any chances.

Ciel grabbed Cyril's hand urgently, not wanting his brother to worry. The blood was dry on his nightgown, and now that he was aware of it, so was the blood around the wound. It must've dried while he slept, but the sting of the small tear in his skin was painful on top of the ache he felt from the stab wound internally. He didn't want Cyril to hurt himself, his back and arms being something he couldn't avoid moving very much. He tugged on his brother's hand again, and whispered hoarsely. "Cyril...sit back down. Please."

Cyril sat back down on the bed, having done what he could for now. He scooted himself back against the pillows, holding Ciel’s hand, trying to stay calm but finding his own breathing ragged.  He stared at the bloodstain on Ciel’s shirt and was grateful that it seemed dry, but was still worried about possible infection. He stroked the back of Ciel’s hand gently, trying to steady his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small, shaky voice. “I just…I can’t lose you again.”

The memory of the dagger coming down into his brother’s flesh, and he himself trapped behind steel bars, helpless to do anything about it, flashed across his mind. It had been the most painful moment of his life…the moment his spirit had broken, retrieved from the depths of pure despair only due to the demon’s appearance and subsequent rescue. Cyril wished to never endure such pain again. The memory of it forced tears out of the child’s eyes.

Ciel's breathing was shallow, as it had been since they returned from the cult, labored and short like he couldn't draw in a proper breath. He was still injured, somewhat sick, he couldn't deny that, but Cyril looked so afraid of losing him. Ciel had to feign he was recovering quickly, hide any excess pain that came to him, and make sure Cyril didn't see the weakness that came along with his injuries. Once he was fixed today, whatever the problem may be, he would act as though his recovery was a steady one, but that would cause some problems as well. He didn't want Cyril to actually lose him, but he didn't want Cyril to be afraid either. If he pretended to get better, he might get worse and then not ask for help. It was the most conflicting situation he'd ever been in.

He sighed once and held Cyril's hand as tightly as he could, which wasn't very tight. "You won't lose me...you never did in the first place." Ciel couldn't imagine what Cyril had felt when he'd been stabbed, and he didn't want to think about what he would've felt if it had been Cyril on the altar. This situation made everything complicated. He needed to hold his brother, but pain wouldn't allow him to sit up completely. With some difficulty, Ciel pulled himself up on the pillow so he was a bit higher, grunting in pain at every small movement. Then, before his brother could protest, Ciel pulled Cyril into his side delicately to hold him.

There was a knock at the door, again for formality, and in strode the tailcoat-clad butler, pushing a small cart containing the morning's breakfast.

"Young master, you called quite frantically, what is the matter?" He asked, noticing the state of the children, clinging to each other under their covers.

Cyril sat up straighter as Sebastian entered. The smell of food made the boys' stomachs grumble.

"Sebastian! Ciel's wound opened during the night. It seems to have dried now but he might need new stitches...can you check?"

Ciel looked over at their new butler, still a stranger to him, as the man stepped closer.

"If you would permit me, my lord?" He asked. Ciel realized he meant to begin undressing him. He nodded, a little nervous. He had been unconscious the last time, and only Tanaka, his parents, and perhaps their tailor Nina had seen him bare.

Permission granted to him, Sebastian reached forward and slid the coverlet lower to expose the dried blood on the front of his nightgown. He hummed once in contemplation and began to unbutton the nightgown.

Ciel was lying perfectly still, but once he felt the fabric slide off his collar bone and the man's hand so close to bare skin, his eyes widened in fear, remembering the greedy hands of the last stranger who had touched him. He whimpered urgently, but knew he couldn't stop Sebastian. He needed medical attention, so he reached for Cyril's hand and gripped it tightly before shutting his eyes.

The demon paused a moment, frowning at the small earl's reaction, and opened the nightgown slightly to reveal the gash. The stitches remained in place save for a few loops that had been torn from his skin during his thrashing last night. The skin stung at the slightest touch, but it needed to be cleaned and restitched. Dried blood was crusted around the open side of the gash.

Cyril saw his brother's distress and gave his hand a comforting squeeze in return. He wasn't going to let anyone harm Ciel. He then cringed at the sight of the gash, imagining how painful it must be. The dagger had gone all the way through his small body. Cyril hoped that Sebastian had been able to heal most of the internal damage.

The demon set to work silently because he knew there was nothing he could do or say to comfort the small body. He had no pain killers, and couldn't exactly let one of his masters become intoxicated just to mask the pain. He left the comforting to the boy's twin. He tied off the ends of the thread that had snapped, threaded the same needle from before that had been cleaned, and got closer to the gash with it. He paused a moment before sticking it through the boy's skin and pulling it out the other side to begin closing the small open section.

Ciel's back arched slightly and his stomach muscles tensed as he felt the needle, however small, run through his skin and muscle. He squeezed Cyril's hand with his hurt right hand, fingers now wrapped in proper bandages. Ciel could not take the pain, did not want anymore of it. He opened his eyes, willing the tears not to fall. "Cyril...talk, please. Tell me something. Like...what happened to your eye?" He said through the pain, wanting distraction from it.

Cyril swallowed. Yes, talking would distract his brother, but the answer to his question was perhaps much more layered than his brother thought. Cyril had been dreading this moment. He would have to tell him about the contract...

"Uh...well, you see, er...it's rather complicated." Cyril wondered where to begin. What had happened to them was so incredible, so unbelievable that even he wasn't entirely sure that it had actually happened. And yet, here they were, in their completely rebuilt manor, restored by a demon they had made a contract with, and had thus gained freedom from what seemed an inescapable hell.

"Remember when the cultists had been trying to summon the 'dark king' or whoever else might have come to them? Well, after you were stabbed, something did come..." Cyril's eyes darted up to Sebastian's face for a moment, still focused on the sewing but clearly listening. "But it wasn't the cultists who summoned it...it was me."

"What do you mean?" Ciel asked, breathing heavy, looking rather confused. Something had come, what exactly? Some entity, some beast, some demon? He had never wanted to be more wrong.

"I'm not sure exactly how or why," Cyril continued. "But a demon came. He came to me, in the cage, and told me I had summoned him, that I had given a great sacrifice. And then he asked me...if I wanted to make a contract with him. Cyril paused, knowing that this was a lot to take in.

Ciel looked frightened, or like Cyril was sick or crazy. This all didn't sound right. But if it was true, what had happened next? He waited with bated breath to find out, before crying out once more at the stitches he was receiving. Finally Sebastian finished and tied off the thread, letting Cyril explain.

"I thought I'd lost you. I wanted to avenge you...and me...make all of those horrible people pay. This demon offered power, power to do all of that and more...at the price of my soul." Cyril paused for a moment, choking up a little as he relived the moments following what he believed was his brother's death. He gathered his thoughts, and continued, wanting Ciel to understand. "It seemed to be the only way out...so I agreed."

"Cyril..." Ciel said, sounded scared and disappointed. Even though he did not have faith in God anymore, he had hoped Cyril would find salvation, to at least be with their parents in heaven. But if what he had spoken was true, that would never happen now. He didn't know why he felt like this was his fault. But he couldn't blame his brother either. If Cyril had died, he might've chosen the same thing. But Cyril had said take revenge _and more_. The demon wasn't done with him yet? "And where is this demon now?"

"Well, here's the thing," continued Cyril, his heart rate rising. "I couldn't make the contract on my own. I'm not sure how, but apparently, your soul...and my soul...somehow...broke...and then intertwined, became a part of each other. The demon said that he could not make a contract with me...without you."

Tears brimmed in the boy's eyes, feeling terrible. He almost couldn't look Ciel in the eye. "I'm so sorry, brother, but you're in the contract too. And...Sebastian is the demon."

Sebastian was silent, standing back from the bed until he was to be beckoned, while his second young master looked between the two of them with emotions of fear and disgust and hatred playing on his face. Sebastian could practically smell the distaste he felt for his current situation.

Ciel looked at Sebastian and seemed to scramble slowly away from him in fear, as he was standing on Ciel's side of the bed, however far away. He then looked at Cyril, tears brimming in his brother's eyes. He couldn't be mad at Cyril, he had done all he knew to do and all he could do at the time to save his life, but he hadn't even given Ciel the chance to choose if his own soul was to be bartered away. No, he couldn't hate Cyril, but he hated the demon who had made his brother make this choice. He vowed he would for the rest of time.

But that still didn't answer his immediate question. He had asked about Cyril's eye that had been injured, and demon had been brought up. He looked at Sebastian again before frantically turning back to Cyril.

"What did you do to him?!" He demanded before leaning forward to tear the bandages away from Cyril's eyes, the entirety of them unravelling and showing the brilliant purple mark. Ciel gasped and clambered backward, clutching his chest wound as the movement hurt him.

"Brother!" Cyril called out in alarm, fearing his brother's stitches would break again. The tears were falling now. He wanted to hold his brother's hand but he was afraid that Ciel might hit him. He could see how frightened and angry he was, so he simply sat on his knees on the bed, with his hands in front of him. He couldn't bear it if Ciel hated him or never forgave him...

"Please, I know this is a lot...but if I hadn't done it, we both would have died on that altar. I wanted to save us both and I did. Sebastian was able to save you before you lost too much blood. He used his power to heal you. He repaired our burned home in a matter of minutes. He has great power and I know we can use it well...I know you didn't have a choice, and I am so sorry, but you have the same rights to his power that I do. You can command him to do...anything." Cyril finished breathlessly, desperately hoping Ciel understood the benefits and possibilities of the situation, despite the high cost.

"Then I can command him to leave," Ciel said.

"No!" Cyril said quickly. "He has to stay...he's fixing you. He saved us..."

"Our aunt is a doctor, she could help us if we went to find her!" Ciel almost pleaded. But he stopped. He stared at the mark on Cyril's eye, hating it. It was the sign of some demon, and to Ciel it was as bad as the branding mark they both had. It meant someone else owned them. He wondered if the demon was lying to Cyril, making him feel comfortable until he trusted him completely and he could do god knows what to him...or maybe god didn't know. Sebastian was a demon after all.

 Did he have one too? He reached up and touched his own eye, the opposite one, mirrored to his brother. He hadn't seen himself in however long it had been so there was no way of telling.

"Cyril..." He saw how frightened his brother was of him, like a kicked puppy afraid of rejection. "I'm not angry with _you_." And that was true, he never could be. "I promise. Even if I don't like this..."

He reached out for Cyril's hand and took it gently, tugging on it weakly to pull his little brother closer. His breathing was labored from his quick but brief movements, already growing tired. He was disgusted when he remembered the demon had undressed him and touched him.

Without looking at either of them, Ciel spoke. "Demon...you claim to be our new butler, an eternal servant to us. But I am not yours. If you're going to remain this...this thing in our home, you're going to make my brother your priority." Ciel couldn't keep Cyril safe....he'd learned that. Especially not in this state. "Keep him safe, keep him healthy. I don't want anything from you or to do with you. That is my first and only order."

Ciel felt a strange tingling in his back, very light, and ignored it as pins and needles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the demon bow.

"Yes, my lord." Came the solemn words. Sebastian moved to the other side of the bed to tend to Cyril. The breakfast was mashed apples and more milk and honey, something more filling but easy on the stomach.

When Ciel spoke next it was directed to Cyril. Even if he had to live with the demon in what was now _his_  house, he didn't have to tolerate it. "I want to go to the hospital today. Find any of the others, or possibly Aunt Ann. Any of the remaining servants we find there will be put back on payroll at the manor, and their recovery will be paid for."

If they found some of the other servants and brought them back, it wouldn't just be them and the demon. Maybe home would feel like home again.

Cyril was simply relieved to hear that his brother was not angry with him. He did not expect Ciel to accept Sebastian, but the demon would still need to care for him, whether he wanted it or not. The transition into their new life would be anything but simple. Cyril agreed. He wanted to see Aunt Angelina as well. He did not like the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not he and his brother would be permitted to live on their own together. It wasn't that he disliked the rest of the family...it was the fact that he and his twin now felt so separate from the family. The boys would never tell them what had happened to them in captivity, and so the family would never be able to understand the people they were becoming. Their experiences were still shaping them and it would be a long time before they would even be able to put their trauma into words. At least for now, the only people the boys could relate to was each other.

Per Ciel's order, Sebastian asked, "My lord, if I may, I will check on your back..."

Cyril looked down. He knew more pain was probably coming, but it couldn't be helped. He unbuttoned his nightgown and pulled it off of his shoulders, revealing the slightly stained bandages covering his back. He let his nightgown rest at his waist as he laid down on his stomach, facing Ciel.

Ciel looked at his brother, and the pain and fear in his face. He felt horrible for being angry, but he wasn't angry with Cyril, he never could be. He wanted to comfort his brother, let him know he still loved him. He looked over the whip marks as they were revealed, Sebastian unwrapping his bandages, and cringed. He closed his eyes and looked away for a moment before turning back to his brother and putting a hand in his hair, running his fingers over it and through it softly. Their hair had gotten longer in the month they'd been in the cult, and it had already been too long before. They were supposed to have Tanaka cut their hair before Christmas for the portraits that were meant to be taken. He examined the long locks of blueish-grey.

They were a bit dry, and needed trimming. He followed the curve of them to his brother's face, still scratched and bruised in places. His blue eye was looking up at Ciel, the purple one doing the same. It was still his brother's eye, but Ciel didn't know why he felt it belonged to another person now. Maybe because the mark on it did.

Sebastian spoke up, directing his words to both of them, but mostly Ciel since the young earl had ordered him to care for Cyril. "There isn't much I can do for the wounds, other than to clean them and stitch the larger ones closed before re-wrapping them in bandages."

Cyril flinched at the word 'stitch', having seen Sebastian stitch up his brother's chest and the pain on his face. Cyril had never had stitches but they seemed fairly straightforward. He reached out and took his brother's hand, gripping slightly, and nodded. "Alright, go ahead."

Sebastian nodded and went over to the cabinet along the wall where he had stored the sewing kit. He returned with it, along with the washbasin and cloth, and quickly set to work. He heated the water with his hands until it was steaming. Ciel watched the demon closely as he worked, not trusting a single move he made. Sebastian dipped the cloth into the hot water and wrung it out. Then, leaning over the bed, he gently wiped each wound clean.

Cyril found it wasn't nearly as painful as the night before, when the lashes had been filthy with dirt and the soapy water had stung him. The boy either stared down at the sheets or at his brother as the butler worked. Once Sebastian had cleaned the boy's entire back, he soon had the needle threaded and began the stitches. Cyril gasped as the needle went through the damaged skin and he gripped his brother's hand tightly. Sebastian worked quickly, only placing a hand gently on Cyril's lower back to keep him from moving too much. In and out the thread went, closing each wound. It was constant pain, but Cyril gritted his teeth and breathed sharply in and out, knowing it would be over soon. He was very glad that his brother was with him this time.

Sebastian tied off the last thread and moved on to the bandages. Cyril breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that the wounds healed well. Ciel let Cyril grip his uninjured hand as tightly as he needed. Sebastian wrapped Cyril's entire back from waist to shoulders since the lashes extended so far. He helped sit the boy up gently and pulled his shirt back on over the bandages, buttoning it up, and propping pillows up behind him. Cyril felt exhausted once Sebastian had finished. His back stung all over and he just wanted to sink into the bed and fall asleep. But he allowed his butler to lift him and prop him up, wincing as he did so. The last thing to be done was re-wrap his still healing eye. He respected how quickly Sebastian had performed the delicate care and he turned his attention to the food he had brought.

"I've prepared a light breakfast, my lords. Something that shouldn't upset your stomachs." He took the bowl of mashed apples and the glass of honeyed milk, heating it with his hands again and setting it on a tray to place in Cyril's lap. He did the same and offered the tray to Ciel.

Ciel, already propped against the pillows, crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the demon. "Set it on the bed."

Sebastian obeyed and Ciel pulled the tray closer to himself suspicious, smelling and examining the mashed apples before taking a spoonful into his mouth. It tasted divine, his first taste of real food since his birthday. It was sweet and soft and went down his throat easily, unlike the slop. He tried not to moan aloud at the taste and give the demon any satisfaction in his actions.

Cyril began to eat the moment the tray was close enough to do so. The mashed apples tasted heavenly, and he, unlike his brother, did moan his appreciation. It was such a stark contrast to the slop they had been forced to ingest for a month. Cyril felt as though he had almost forgotten what good food tasted like. He sipped the honeyed milk eagerly and was relieved that the simple but delicious food stayed inside him. The hot liquid went down easily, warming him. Despite the physical and emotional pain he was still enduring, Cyril finally began to feel hopeful. It was amazing what a full, satisfied stomach could do for the spirits.

Sebastian was internally proud he'd gotten food suitable for both children that they seemed to like. He let them eat and once the trays were empty he put them back on the cart to be cleaned later.

"If there are plans to go out today, I must dress both of you suitably. And young master Ciel hasn't had a proper bath yet, if he wishes to take one himself."

"Ah, that's right. Do we...still have clothes?" asked Cyril. He wasn't sure if their clothing had been lost in the fire or if Sebastian had managed to restore those as well.

"Everything has been restored, my lord." Sebastian told him. "It's just a matter of choosing what to wear."

Cyril nodded. "Good."

Once again, he was astounded by the demon's power and how specific it could be. He had restored their home and everything in it, he could heat food with his hands, and he had given their tormentors a fitting demise. Then Cyril remembered. Ciel didn't know...

"Oh! Brother," Cyril said, turning to Ciel. Then he hesitated, wondering how to say it. How exactly did one tell someone that their abuser was dead?

"...About the cultists. They're dead, all of them. Selwin and Pryor too...Sebastian killed them. They can't hurt us anymore. We burned down that manor too. Only children and servants escaped." Cyril gave a small smile, not sure how his brother would take the news. "I hope that makes it a little easier to sleep at night."

Ciel looked at him in astonishment. Selwin was dead? He felt as though part of the weight resting on his shoulders had fallen directly into a grave and been buried. He felt as though he may cry in relief and leaned forward to wrap his arms gently around Cyril's neck. Pryor was dead too, he couldn't hurt Cyril anymore. None of them could, and the children had escaped and were on their way home to their families, hopefully able to make recoveries like them. Sebastian left the brothers to have their moment and prepare a hot bath for Ciel so he could wash himself since he knew the boy wouldn't allow him to assist.

Cyril returned the embrace, holding his brother close as they shared their relief. The danger was not completely gone, as the people responsible for the initial attack on their family were still out there...but they had failed to obliterate the Phantomhives, and now the boys had a demon's power and protection behind them. That in itself was a victory.

Cyril stroked the back of Ciel's head. After a few minutes, he spoke. "Come, let's get you a nice bath. Sebastian can carry you in, and I can help you wash. Sound alright?"


	19. A New Owner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • Feild of Innocence - Evanescence

Ciel suddenly realized he couldn't walk on his own. When he moved his legs experimentally just to see, he winced at the stabbing pain that came with it. Sebastian would _have_ to carry him, even though he hated the thought of it. He also couldn't be alone. He dreaded to think of being triggered, having some sort of panic attack, or even drowning after all they'd already been through. Even just thinking of bathing had him slightly panicky. The last time he'd had a bath was before his night with Selwin, the memory of the maid's gentle hands still fresh in his mind. He wondered if she had been one of the maids who escaped, where she was now, and who she was with. He finally nodded, accepting the fact he had to get clean. The thought of being in normal clothes again, nice ones even, was such a foreign thought. Soft cotton, lace, all the clothes Ms. Nina had made for them, the matching outfits her and mother always fawned over. Lizzy too.

Elizabeth...they had to tell her and the rest of his fiancee's family they were alive. Had she mourned for him? They were supposed to get married when he was older. He guessed that vow was still something he'd hold to, especially now he was Earl Phantomhive... An earl. He couldn't begin to fathom everything he'd have to do. He pushed the thoughts from his head. He wanted to bathe, get dressed, and find Aunt Angelina.

Cyril smiled, happy to take the day one step at a time. It was already heavily emotional and there were bound to be more tears later on, of joy and of pain. The younger carefully stepped out of the bed and stretched, careful to not pull on his stitches. He walked around the bed, pulled the covers off of his brother, and allowed Sebastian to reach under Ciel's back and legs to lift the child into his arms. The three of them entered the bathroom and Ciel ordered the butler to set him down onto his feet, despite Sebastian's look of concern. He did not want the demon present while he bathed.

Sebastian continued frowning and set the boy down. Ciel sucked a breath in through his teeth at the initial pain but gripped the side of the tub and supported his weight on one leg.Their butler left the room and Ciel looked at Cyril sadly for help, hating that he needed help to undress himself as he supported his weight. But Cyril gave a comforting smile and stepped forward. While Ciel leaned against the steaming tub, Cyril unbuttoned his white shirt and pulled it off his shoulders, one arm at a time. He was a little clumsy at first, fumbling with the buttons and then the material as he gradually pulled it off. He winced slightly at the sight of his brother's stab wound, but it no longer distressed him. He was confident now that Ciel would make a full recovery and he just wanted his brother to have a relaxing soak. Once Ciel was undressed, Cyril had him put one arm around his shoulders and he supported his brother's weight as best he could while he stepped up onto the stool with his strong leg and carefully into the hot water.

Ciel sunk down into the bath with a sigh, wincing once as the hot water touched the wound on his chest. He was exerting so much energy that he didn't have. Having been asleep almost a full twenty-four hours, being malnourished, and only able to use one leg and one hand, it was taking up all of his energy and more just to get into a bathtub, and he hated it. It would be a long time until he fully recovered, if he ever did, and he didn't want it to always be like this.

Once comfortably inside he hugged his knees to his chest and leaned forward, resting before he expelled any more energy from his small, weak body. This would expose his back to Cyril, covered in scratches and bruises, some fading into yellow at the nape of his neck from Selwin and the other cultists who'd used him. The brand mark with the bend in it from Selwin's thumb was also made visible, and a brilliant purple mark that looked indented into Ciel's skin, one to match Cyril's. And his twin hadn't seen either mark on his brother before, and Ciel was unaware of the latter one, having been unconscious and barely coherent to feel the pain that had been like burning white knives carving the symbol into him.

Cyril went to pick up a washcloth from the side tray as Ciel settled into the water. When he turned back to his brother, he almost gasped. The brand that he and his brother had been burned with stood dark and red against the pale skin. It depicted two snakes coiling around each other and moving upward. Is this what the brand on _his_  back looked like too? Cyril hadn't had a chance to look at it, or himself, in a full-length mirror yet.

Cyril didn't know what to think about the mark. On its own, it was fairly innocuous. But to the cultists, it was the mark of the 'noble beast', who they worshipped. It was a mark of ownership. For weeks now the boys couldn't shake the feeling that they were owned by someone, property that had been stolen and sold to be used at another's discretion and mercy for the rest of their lives. It was surreal being back home, and being treated as human beings again. The world now appeared more cold, terrifying, and confusing than they could have ever imagined.

Cyril noticed the second mark and frowned. He didn't remember receiving a second mark from the cultists, so he figured this must be Sebastian's mark. So this is what it looked like...this is what he had on his eye...there was so much detail and he couldn't yet read the Latin words that were inscribed in the gaps of the star that dominated the pattern. Perhaps it described the contract that they had with the demon. He made a mental note to ask Sebastian about it later. In the meantime, he was cursing the mark's location. Why had the demon placed it onto his back, right next to the cultists' brand as well? He wasn't sure if it made a difference though. Cyril had demanded the most power the demon could offer, and so he had received it upon his eye. At least Ciel could hide his mark easily. He himself would have to wear an eyepatch in public. It would not do to have others seeing such a mark. Cyril heaved a great sigh and sat on his knees on the stool next to the tub, dipped the washcloth into the water with some soap, and began to gently wash Ciel's back.

Ciel flinched at the initial touch, remembering the hands on him, always hands. And lips. But the gleaming white of the familiar porcelain that held the vaguest of his own reflection helped ground him. The familiar walls surrounding him, the hands touching him now. These were all signs of home, a home he was still having trouble believing existed right now. It had been lost and brought back to him so quickly it seemed. He woke up from what he felt were the worst nightmares of his life to the home they watched burn, without seeing its rebuilding or knowing any details as to why it was suddenly there, and he felt so lost. It was so surreal. But surreal had become his new reality. He had to get used to miraculous things now, with the demon's power his brother now held.

Cyril's hand was gentle, and Ciel once again hated that his brother had to do this for him. The cloth moved to the right side of his back and he winced as sensitive skin was met with warm, soapy water.  The brand mark couldn't have been that sensitive still, could it? He took a deep breath in and back out again. When Cyril was finished with his back, he reached for the cloth.

 "I can do the rest," he insisted in a small voice, not wanting Cyril to have to do anymore. He wanted anyway to feel like he could do it himself, that he didn't need Sebastian's help, or Cyril's, and that he wasn't weak and helpless. Even with a task as simple as bathing.

"Alright," replied Cyril, handing his brother the soapy washcloth. "I'll be here if you need me."

Ciel continued the rest of the bathing himself, wincing occasionally. Cyril kept an eye on him but he managed quite well, all things considered.

Once Ciel was ready to get out of the tub, he motioned to Cyril, who then helped him lift himself onto the stool, and down onto the floor. There he stood in front of a full-length mirror that rested against the wall, supporting most of his weight on his left leg. Cyril picked up a few warm white towels and wrapped them around him, glad that his brother was finally able to get clean. Cyril knew he needed to tell Ciel about Sebastian's mark, but he was hesitant, his brother having endured enough physical and emotional turmoil for the day already. But the day wasn't over. They were going to the hospital to see Aunt Angelina and possibly other survivors from their household. Now was as good a moment as any.

"Brother...there's something you should know," said Cyril as he helped dry Ciel's hair with one of the towels. Their eyes met in the mirror, Cyril standing behind Ciel. "You saw the mark on my eye. You have a mark as well, though as you probably figured out while you were washing, it's not in a place you can see...it's on your back."

Ciel looked up at himself in the mirror, wrapped in the towels with his brother slightly behind him. Of course he had one too, why would he ever assume he didn't? Underneath the towel he reached his arm back to feel the skin, the flesh tender and indented where his fingers brushed. Of course it was there... He hadn't been freed, simply gone from one owner to the next, and it only sealed the finality of his fate. He didn't say anything, but his bottom lip trembled. He didn't want to see it, so he allowed Cyril to finish towel drying his hair before his brother called Sebastian back in.

When the butler came back into the room to carry him to the bed after picking out clothes for them, Ciel first took a step back from him, but for the moment submitted to being held and let himself be taken back, Cyril following behind. Once set down, he curled under the covers as much as he could away from the demon, just the thought of the mark shocking him for now, and the realization slowly fading.

Cyril couldn't blame his brother for resenting the contract and fearing their new demon servant. Everything had happened so fast to Ciel, him having been unconscious during their escape, travel and recovery so far. He wanted to tell him everything would be alright. It had been what they had fought to believe for the past month, their hopes dashed every day. And now that they were free, their captors vanquished, the boys had a new reality to endure...life without their parents, and a heavy legacy to carry forward. Cyril walked over to Ciel's side of the bed. Placing a hand on the covers near where Ciel's head was, Cyril spoke in a gentle voice.

"Ciel...let's go see Aunt Angelina. Do you want me to help you get dressed?"

Ciel glanced over at his twin and nodded. What would they wear? Would it be matching like they had always done before mother and father died, or different now that they themselves were different?

The demon came back in with a pair of outfits he remembered Nina making for them. They were the same, shorts and long peacoat blazers to be worn with high socks and boots. Cyril's was blue and his was red, but the design was exactly the same. He watched the butler set the two on the bed, laid out neatly, before bowing and exiting the room. He felt a bit safer after that, comfortable to come out from under the blankets, still wrapped in his towels. He dressed himself a little at first, unable to bend over at the waist due to the wound in his sternum, so Cyril had to help him slip on the shorts while he buttoned up his shirt clumsily. It took them a few minutes working together to find out how the double-breasted buttons worked, neither of them giggling like they would've done in their previous life, but getting rather frustrated. Ciel was then properly dressed and they looked to the blue outfit. Ciel didn't know if he'd be able to help Cyril get dressed or not, already feeling a little more weak from standing when they needed him to, only on his good leg, and exerting energy that he hadn't fully gained back yet.

"If you want his help..." Ciel muttered quietly. "You can call him back in." He could tell Cyril trusted the demon more than he did. Did he have reason not to? How long had he been asleep, what all had happened with Sebastian in that time?

Cyril considered calling the demon back in. It would be easy and he already felt quite comfortable with Sebastian, despite the circumstances. However, he decided against it, for his brother's sake.

"No, it's alright. I can do it myself," replied Cyril. He did it more out of respect to his brother's feelings than anything else. Along with that, however, came the old familiar desire to prove himself, to his brother and to the rest of the family, to society, to anyone. As the second son, he knew that he would have to prove himself worthy of the same respect as his twin over and over. Even on the black market, being sold as items, his brother had been valued more...Cyril pushed the painful thought away.

Even though he knew that he wouldn't be dressing himself every day, he felt it was important to at least know how it was done. The boys had spent the past month fending for themselves, keeping each other alive and as healthy as possible in despicable conditions. Compared to all of that, dressing oneself seemed such a small task, and it gave Cyril tremendous satisfaction when he had completed it on his own. Cyril turned to Ciel, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him. He finished the final button on his blazer and took a deep breath, anxious about the visit to the hospital but eager to reunite with a family member and survivors of their household.

"Ready?" He asked his older brother.

Ciel nodded and hopped off the edge of the bed on one foot and was helped again by his brother to walk. They had everything they needed but shoes and winter coats, but when Cyril opened the door to the connected sitting room, they saw Sebastian waiting for them with two fur lined coats draped over his arms and a pair of lace up boots on the ground beside him with a small stool. The twins approached him and he put on Cyril's coat first. He held the second coat open for Ciel who reached out his hand to take it from the demon and slipped it on himself. His leg was aching him, but he would not sit down out of foolish pride. He leaned against the wall with all his weight on his good leg.

Sebastian helped Cyril with his shoes next, kneeling before him and putting one foot at a time on the stool to lace them. He turned to Ciel. "I cannot put a pair of shoes on you, my lord. Your leg injury will not allow me to do so, but I do have a cloak to wrap around you. And I'm afraid I'll have to carry you until we arrive at the hospital and can acquire a wheelchair."

Ciel looked down in realization. He wouldn't be able to walk that far, of course, even with Cyril's help. He gave in and allowed himself to be carried down the stairs and to the front entrance hall, Cyril beside them. The entrance hall was just as grand as Ciel remembered it, minus the large Christmas tree, everything perfectly restored to his amazement. The door was opened and Ciel gasped, first from the blast of cold January air, then from the sight that met his eyes on the driveway.

A carriage was waiting for them, with a coachman and all, to take them to London's hospital.

"I took the liberty of calling a cab for us, until we are able to acquire horses for your own carriage, which has been restored as well." Their butler spoke up with a wide grin.

Cyril was just as amazed as his brother.  He pulled his scarf higher up on his neck against the cold, actually grateful that his face was half-covered in bandages as they provided some warmth.  However, he would have to get used to having one eye covered all of the time.  He had never realized how much covering one eye affected one’s depth perception. As they descended the stairs, Cyril misjudged how far away the next step was, and he tripped a little. He caught himself clumsily on the thick, curved railing just as Sebastian made to also reach out for him. He took the rest of the stairs more slowly, paying careful attention to how far he had to place each foot before touching stone.  It felt strange, but Cyril assured himself that he would get used to it.

Sebastian walked slightly ahead of Cyril to open the door of the carriage, into which the boy stepped up and clambered into the shelter of. Sebastian followed with Ciel in his arms, placing the boy gently on the seat next to his brother. Anxiety settled on Cyril’s mind as he began to think about what they would tell Aunt Angelina and the rest of the family. Would she demand that they be examined? How would they explain their injuries?  The last thing Cyril wanted to do was relive their hellish month to the rest of the family.  And after they told them, what would the family think of them?  And how would they explain Sebastian? They couldn’t possibly tell them he was a demon who held a contract with them. They would think they were crazy and have them locked up…

Cyril’s mind raced with all of the questions and possible explanations they could give, and it was overwhelming. He didn’t want to think about any of this. He wanted to focus on moving forward. Dealing with the present and the future was enough on their own, without dwelling on a past they couldn’t change as well…

The boy heaved a sigh, his warm breath fogging in the cold, winter air. In that moment, as the cab rattled on, the boy made a cold decision. He would not give any details regarding what had happened to them during their month-long absence to anyone, no matter how much the adults pressed him.  It was pointless and would only scatter doubt regarding their competency as Earl and Lord. He wanted love and acceptance, not pity and doubt.

Ciel panted quietly to himself, a hand over his wound. It was very sore, inside and out, from the damage the knife had caused and the stitches. Any exertion at all pained him and made him slightly short of breath. The stabbing pain of each breath only brought back flashbacks of the altar, Selwin's face above him as Pryor plunged the dagger into his chest, and the blackness he saw until everything went blank and he woke up in the manor. His leg pained him as well, having insisted on standing so long by himself. 

He agreed with Cyril mentally. He didn't want to tell anyone about their time in the cult. No details would be shared, and only the basics would go to those who would have to know something, but only the bare minimum. He slowed his breathing, still deep and labored, and closed his eyes. Information he also would not share was the pain he felt. He could practically feel his brother's distress. He made up his mind. He would not be the cause of any more. He leaned against the window of the carriage, his forehead against the cold glass. The cloak that Sebastian placed over him was heavy and black, some kind of soft wool. It covered his legs where he only had socks on. He draped the cloak over his lap more efficiently to keep him warm and waited for the long carriage ride into London to end.

His twin could see the pain in his face and hoped the trip would not be too much for him. Although they were headed to a hospital, Cyril did not want it to reach the point where Ciel would have to be treated there.


	20. Spirit of a Phantomhive

It was a long journey and Cyril was already exhausted in every way. Even though he had decided what he would and would not tell to those who asked, the prospect of the inevitable questions still caused him a great deal of anxiety. He hoped, whatever was decided, that he and his brother would be together. Cyril had no desire to live with anyone else and being separated would be nothing short of torture after all they had endured. He decided to put the stressful thoughts aside and rest while he still could. He scooted closer to his brother for warmth, and laid his head against him, careful to not let his back rub against the back of the carriage seat. He closed his eyes, and the twin boys drifted off to sleep together.

Ciel was subconsciously surprised how comfortable he was falling asleep in the presence of the demon, but when he woke at the small jerk of the carriage stopping, there was their new butler, waiting with his hands folded in his lap. He stood, stooped low in the carriage, and stepped out to hold the door for the tiny lords. Cyril was the first to get out, Sebastian offering his large hand to the tiny one to hold as he stepped down from the taxi. Ciel stood and hobbled on his horribly painful leg, stumbling forward. Sebastian reached out to half catch Ciel and once again scoop him into his arms. Ciel found his surprise from falling deepened further at the warmth the demon produced, and how welcome it was to his bones. They entered the hospital. As there always were, spare wheelchairs and crutches were at the right of the entrance. Sebastian placed Ciel in one of the chairs.

The proud Phantomhive heir was ashamed at the even lower stature he now held, being wheeled around the hospital as they wandered, as Cyril suggested, until they found Angelina or another nurse they could ask about her whereabouts. Ciel was now lower, in what felt like a literal and metaphorical sense. He almost would've preferred being carried than being confined to this chair. The trio walked up to one of the information desks. Cyril stood on his toes as he looked over the top of the counter.

"Excuse me...we're looking for our Aunt An- I mean, Doctor Dalles."

At that moment, a familiar voice called out to them.

"Ah! Young masters!"

Ciel, Cyril, and Sebastian turned in time to see the boys' old butler, Tanaka, fall out of the wheelchair that he was being pushed in. The nurse who had been pushing him gasped. The elderly man straightened, looking amazed, as though he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Young master Ciel! Cyril! Is it really you?"

"Grandpa!" yelled Cyril, beginning to run straight for the old butler. He remembered the last time he had seen Tanaka, who had been trying to fight off one of the intruders at the manor before Cyril had been knocked unconscious. He was beyond relieved that Tanaka had survived the attack. Cyril reached him, and Tanaka wrapped his arms around the small child, tears already streaming down his face. He moved a hand up to the back of Cyril's head, gently stroking his hair.

"I'm so glad you're alive!"

Cyril winced slightly as Tanaka's other hand pressed against his back, but he ignored the pain. Just seeing Tanaka alright was enough to lift his spirits.

Ciel was still sitting in the chair, filled with his own surprise as he saw Cyril rush to Tanaka. He was torn between childish excitement and his new need to be responsible and noble. But as he saw Tanaka's arms around his brother, he melted. He wanted that, he wanted the familiar love of someone he knew, the comfort, the arms around him. He didn't care how much pain he was in, he stood from the chair, clutching his chest wound as the cloak on his lap fell to the ground. Tanaka saw the older boy stumble over to them over Cyril’s shoulder. It pained the old man to see such a young child so wounded, but it warmed his heart to witness him push through the pain to reach his goal.  _That_ , he thought, _is the spirit of a Phantomhive._

Ciel hobbled as quickly as he could, exerting all his energy, not even fighting the tears that came from pain and relief and want that ran down his face. He reached them, stumbling to the hard ground. He joined them, pressing himself against Tanaka's chest next to his twin, his own tears meeting the sound of their old butler's as he clutched the old man, their beloved caretaker. Tanaka's chest swelled with pride and relief as he lifted his arm to bring Ciel into the embrace, and he held both boys close. For the past month, the butler had been filled with shame over his failure to protect his master and lady; but at that moment, his spirit was reawakened, and he vowed to serve and protect these two children with his life.

When Tanaka at last pulled back, he rested his hands on their shoulders at arm’s length, and looked into their tear-stained faces. They were skin and bones, their skin grey and sallow, bruised and battered; but they were alive. The old butler could tell right away that they were not the same children as they were before, but gazing deep into their eyes, there was still a faint ember of light that told him that they were not broken. He gave them both a compassionate smile, his sage eyes twinkling.

He then glanced up, noticing the tall butler approaching behind them.

“Well hello there,” greeted Tanaka.  Then, looking back down at the boys, “Won’t you introduce me to your companion?”

“Yes,” said Cyril, wiping his left eye on the back of his hand.  “Tanaka, this is Sebastian. He’s…er…our new butler. Maybe you two can work together. Sebastian, this is Tanaka, our family’s head butler.”

"An honor to meet you, sir." Sebastian said with a small bow. He had wondered...his young master called this man 'grandfather,' but he was nothing more than a servant. Perhaps he could learn from this old man. Humans of this age tended to be much wiser than most demons assumed, and Sebastian with his fascination of humanity had learned this several times over. This man must've known so much of the family.

Then, Ciel had a sudden idea. He was in charge of the household now, being the eldest son. He looked up at Tanaka. "When you get better...I want you to come back and work at the manor." He knew Tanaka was younger than he appeared in spirit and body. He wouldn't give the old man too harsh of a workload of course, but he belonged with them. "You're always welcome at the manor, I want you there with us..." Tears were still streaming down his face as he looked up at the old man.

Tanaka gave a sad smile to the child. So the boys were aware that their parents were dead…he had not been sure what they had seen before the attackers had taken them away. But Ciel wanted him to stay and continue to work at the manor…that would be wonderful indeed. The butler beamed.

“Nothing would make me happier, young master. However, I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news. The manor was burned that night…no part of it could be saved. I am so sorry.”

Ciel wondered how he could explain this miracle to Tanaka. He'd been in the hospital since then, and he trusted him completely. But how to say it?

"We had it rebuilt..." he said simply, offering a sad smile. "It's standing now, just as it was."

Tanaka stared at the boy incredulously for a moment, and then chuckled.  Ciel had said it in such a matter-of-fact way that told him the boy was not jesting, but Tanaka found such a thing difficult to believe, especially with all of the misfortune that had met the household the past few weeks. He did not contradict his young master, however, deciding to simply wait and see for himself.  He had learned long ago that if a Phantomhive told him something extraordinary, no matter how inconceivable, it was more likely to be true than untrue.

“Did you now?” Tanaka said, still chuckling.  “Well, that is certainly something I must see.”

Tanaka slowly got to his feet as the nurse came around the wheelchair to assist him.

“Come, let us go to my room. You will be more comfortable there.”

Ciel nodded and watched his brother stand. He made to do so himself, momentarily forgetting the pain in his shin, what with the joy of seeing Tanaka and the eagerness to just sit with him and talk, and maybe be held some more. He stood up on his bad leg and immediately crumpled back to the floor with a sharp gasp of pain. Sebastian was immediately beside Ciel, lifting him to place him gently, like a baby, into his own wheelchair.

It pained the old butler greatly to see the boys he had helped raise in so much pain.  He shuddered to imagine what they had been through.  English winters were already cold and brutal enough without being at the mercy of unscrupulous criminals…How had they survived?  Furthermore, how had they _escaped_?  And who was this Sebastian who seemed to appear out of nowhere, ready to serve his young masters? It was not his place to ask such questions, but he knew the rest of the family certainly would.  The boys had a long recovery ahead of them, but for the moment, Tanaka simply reveled in the fact that the tenacious children were alive and had returned home.

* * *

Cyril followed the nurse pushing Tanaka in the wheelchair down the hospital hallway, followed by Sebastian with Ciel in his own. They passed several rooms and rounded a corner before finally reaching Tanaka’s. It was a private room, quite quiet and comfortable.  The nurse helped Tanaka into his bed before seeing herself out. Tanaka remained sitting up so as to converse easily. Cyril sat down in a chair that was next to the bed. He leaned back at first, but then, sensing pain at the sudden pressure on his back, sat up straighter.  Sebastian wheeled Ciel next to Cyril, facing the bed.

Ciel glanced at his twin, who had fidgeted in his seat, and Ciel knew why. He didn't want to think about the whip marks, the scars that would be there forever. He wanted to be closer to Cyril, to Tanaka, not confined to this damned chair. He had no words, only questions.

"How badly were you hurt, what's wrong with you?" Ciel asked.

Tanaka looked down for a moment, recalling. Then he looked back at Ciel’s face.

“I was fighting an unknown attacker who was surprisingly skilled and fast.  He kept his face covered. It was at that moment that I saw your brother running toward me. I told him to run away but there were other intruders coming from the other direction. I admit I became distracted and was overwhelmed by my attacker; he stabbed me deep in the back. It is the worst injury I have sustained in many years…the smoke as well has made it a bit hard to breathe, however, I am on the mend and they say I should make a full recovery.”

“That’s good,” said Cyril.  “So you didn’t see the culprit either. Did you see the ones who - who killed mother and father?”

Tanaka swallowed.  “I did not. I am sorry, I could not protect your parents.” The old man glanced down in shame.

“It’s not your fault.” Cyril looked away, eyes stinging.

Ciel remained cold, looking straightforward. "It isn't. There was nothing you could do." He paused again, eyes not meeting anyone's in the room as he finally looked down. "Everything happens for a reason."

It was silent a few moments, Ciel fixing the cloak in his lap to cover him better in the cold hospital. He looked toward Cyril and reached out to take his hand, tugging on it, silently asking him to join him in his chair, where there was room. It was for adults and they were still small. He didn't want to sit alone. Cyril looked up at his brother's touch. Ciel appeared very lonely. Although they were in good company, Cyril understood he needed closeness. He stood up gingerly and joined his twin in the wheelchair, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leaning his head on him.

Tanaka watched them curiously. He did not know what the children had endured together, but the experience seemed to bring them even closer. Tanaka was glad of this. They would need each other now more than ever, especially if Ciel became the head of the house. He did not know if Ciel would be decorated as the new Earl at such a young age...that would be for the family and Her Majesty to decide. But no matter what happened, he would serve Ciel and his brother as his new masters, as they so wished.

The old man turned his attention to Sebastian, who stood behind the boys.

"You said that your name was Sebastian, if I'm correct," said Tanaka, smiling inwardly at the name coincidence. He reached towards the bedside table and lifted up a silver pocket watch, an Albert, and pin. He held them out in his hands. "Please take this. It has been passed down from every Phantomhive butler to the next."

Sebastian took the items in his hands. The pocket watch had the Phantomhive crest emblazoned on the front. The Albert that hung from the head butler's pin had a small silver key attached to it that depicted a crown. He studied them. 

Tanaka repositioned himself on the bed so that he was sitting on his knees and then bowed to the new butler.

"I don't know who you are or where you are from, but please...please take care of the young masters."

"I intend to," Sebastian assured the old man, looking down at the treasured objects. He pinned them to his lapel and placed the pocketwatch in his pocket, bowing once again.

Ciel watched the exchange, and the finality of it. He looked down, stretching the cloak over both he and his brother's lap. He held Cyril's hand, not wanting to be separated from him. Cyril tucked the cloak more closely around his lap and gave Ciel a reassuring squeeze of his hand. No matter what happened, he would refuse to be separated from his twin. They had struggled too much to stay together and keep each other alive to be forced apart now.

"Has Aunt Ann been treating you? Is she here?" He asked.

Tanaka's eyes grew wide at Ciel's question as he pulled the sheets back over himself.

"Ah, you have not seen her yet? Then that means she does not know...We should have one of the nurses send for her, she will be overjoyed. I have not seen her today, but she is here. She and a few others have been treating me. I have certainly been in good hands," Tanaka said with a smile.

There was a bell that sent for nurses much like the bells at home that rang for servants. Ciel watched Tanaka pull it and a nurse come a few minutes later, sending for Doctor Angelina Dalles. Ciel kept close to Cyril, thighs pressed against his twin, shoulders close. He too did not want to be separated from Cyril, not after everything. Not after the kidnapping, the cult, not after Selwin and Pryor, those bastards that were now dead.

Ciel didn't know what to expect when their aunt was to come in. What should he say, what would she do? It was a little while later that the door opened.

"Tanaka, is anything wrong? You requested me personally so I-" she gasped. She had been preoccupied with looking at her patient, and a file in her hand, to notice the twins a little ways from the bed in the wheelchair. She dropped the papers from her hands and covered her mouth with them, tears already forming in her eyes.

"Boys...you're- you're here, you're not-" she lifted her skirts enough to walk to them, slowly out of disbelief, and knelt before them. She reached up to touch each of their faces with a hand, like her hand would phase right through them. "It's really you..."

Cyril didn't know what to say. He and Ciel hadn't seen Aunt Angelina since before their birthday, them having been taken and the house set aflame before she was due to arrive. He could only imagine what went through her mind once she got there. Everyone thought they were dead. There had been a funeral, graves erected for them.  The boys themselves also thought they would die, there were so many times when they could have, but they had returned...in the arms of a demon, in the form of a servant. They felt they had been snatched away from the clutches of Death itself. It was all very surreal.

Cyril felt their aunt's hesitant hand touch his face, and he could tell she could hardly believe they were solid.

"Hi...Aunt Ann," he said in a weak voice.

As if Cyril speaking to her had made it all real, she leaned forward to hug them both, a hand on the back of each of their heads. Ciel did not reach up to hug her back, still stunned and shocked and terrified. What if Aunt Angelina was going to be the one to separate them? Instead he reached up with one hand to clutch at the front of her hospital uniform. He hadn't spoken yet.

Tanaka beamed with tears in his eyes. He hoped that Angelina and the rest of the family did not bombard the boys with questions. The butler wished only for their good health and speedy recovery. He would do whatever he could to help them through their mourning.

Cyril reached up and rested his hand on the arm Angelina had wrapped around him. He wanted to give her a more full hug, but he was afraid that she would touch his back, which would lead to uncomfortable questions. He prayed that she did not insist that they be examined.

"We're home," said Cyril. He tried to sound cheerful, but it came out sounding exhausted and weary.

Their aunt looked at them both, the overwhelming urge to take care of them sprouting in her, but that could wait for now. They looked like they were already bandaged and taken care of, they looked clean and well dressed. Perhaps they'd already had care. She didn't ask what they had been through, not wanting to know in the slightest. She couldn't bare knowing all the grief and pain they must've been through and she didn't want to talk about it, or make them relive any of it. They simply spoke, but mainly just sat in each other's presence for a while. They'd only been gone a month, which was an eternity to the twins, but not much had happened back home of substantial importance except the funeral. 

After a little while, Angelina was called back to work, she had patients who needed her, and it was a little easier to leave knowing they were alive and she could go see them when she wanted. Kissing their foreheads, she stood. Sebastian opened the door politely for her when she made to leave.

She glanced up at the tall, handsome man, clad in tails with the butler's pin and Albert pinned to him. "You must be their new caretaker, or butler." She said, her smile still a bit watery from tears welling.

"Indeed I am," he said with a slight bow. Madam glanced at the boys and back to Sebastian.

"Thank you for taking care of them. They are so precious to me..." before she could allow herself to cry again, she left.

Cyril breathed a heavy sigh of relief and laid his head on Ciel's shoulder. For now, at least, they would be left to heal in peace at the manor together. Cyril interlocked his fingers with his brother's and they simply sat there in the chair for a while. It wasn't until Sebastian mentioned how late the day was getting and that they would need to catch a cab soon to return to the manor that the boys moved at all.

Ciel said goodbye to Tanaka after agreeing responsibly that they should get going. He had been sitting up so long his chest had begun to get sore. He was hungry, and he was sure Cyril was as well. They needed to get home and have dinner before turning in early. With the amount of sleep they needed to get well, and the amount of sleep they actually got due to nightmares, going to bed early and waking up late seemed to be the only way to get a decent amount of rest, and Sebastian had noted that as well.

Cyril said goodbye to Tanaka and managed a weak smile before a yawn escaped him. Sebastian then wheeled both boys out of the room and through the halls of the hospital. They would be able to sleep a little on the carriage ride home and then they'd have dinner. Cyril wondered what Sebastian would prepare tonight, though it seemed they would only be consuming mashed fruits and vegetables and honeyed milk for a while. Cyril's stomach growled at just the thought. He didn't mind not having solid food; he simply wanted to feel satisfied.

Sebastian hailed a cab and he held the door open for Cyril to climb in. Once the boy was inside, the butler followed with Ciel in his arms, setting him down on the seat next to his brother. Cyril leaned against Ciel and fell asleep almost immediately.

Ciel was wary to seep, leaving he and the demon alone in the carriage. Sebastian did not speak, and would not speak until spoken to. Ciel did not want to fall asleep and leave himself defenseless against the demon, so he fought his tired eyes as long as he could, but pain was gnawing at him and sleep was too tempting of a siren's call to ignore, and he willingly plunged into a sea of darkness, and into sleep's unforgiving arms.


	21. No Longer Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song guide:
> 
> • I Ain't the Same - Alabama Shakes

The sun had set by the time the horse-drawn carriage pulled up alongside Phantomhive Manor. Cyril felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder and he slowly awoke, rubbing his left eye. His body ached as soon as he tried to move, and he had a slight crick in his neck from how he had slept. He took his time, and eventually stepped down out of the carriage with the demon's assistance. Sebastian picked up Ciel, who was still dozing silently. In his sleep, he curled closer to the warmth, trying to sleep peacefully without the nightmares that plagued them.

Sebastian did not know where to deposit the children while he made dinner. It wouldn't take him very long, since the menu choices were slim, so he didn't want to take them all the way back upstairs. He went into a small sitting room he knew existed opposite of the dining hall, the same that the twins had sat in together after making snow angels, drinking hot chocolate. The demon didn't know the significance of this room, and set the still slightly sleepy earl-to-be on the couch. Cyril followed, the memory of when he had previously been in this room coming back to him bittersweet. They had been sipping hot cocoa in front of the fire, Ciel fiddling with father's ring, the metal clinking against the china. The memory seemed to be a lifetime ago. It had been a happy memory, tainted only by the worry the gift of the family ring had brought upon them that day... The fireplace held a low glow. Sebastian stoked the fire a bit so it warmed the room, bowed, and left to prepare a dinner for them.

A question that had been burning within the twins' minds since their birthday returned to Cyril as he settled himself on the couch next to his sleeping brother: had father known what was to befall their household? Did he know they would be attacked and that he might not survive? Cyril watched the flames within the hearth dance in time with the boy's buzzing thoughts. He simply could not ignore the convenient timing of the passing of the heirloom to his brother. Perhaps father had been expecting an attack, but not that day, for he would surely have put extra safeguards in place had he known. Even Tanaka seemed to be taken off guard by the intruders. However, father's alleged pre-knowledge seemed to indicate that he at least knew who his attackers were, perhaps personally. People he had worked with? People he had pursued in his Watchdog duties? People he had perhaps brought to justice? There were many possibilities.

Cyril sighed and leaned back against the couch, and then, with a sharp intake of breath, immediately sat up straight again as his healing lacerations brushed against the thick back of the couch. He grunted under his breath, trying not to disturb his twin. The younger wanted to find the ones responsible. They were the reason he and his brother were orphans, the reason they had been humiliated and tormented by the worst the seedy Underworld had to offer, the reason they had almost been killed themselves... Had their goal been to end the Phantomhive line, to finish the Watchdog and any potential heirs? Cyril's hand clenched into a fist.

Ciel was sleeping a dreamless sleep beside him, still wrapped in the cloak to warm him and exhausted from the energy he had exerted at the hospital, and the few sleepless nights they had experienced. He woke a moment later, eyes bleary as he took in his surroundings. It was warm and cozy, wrapped up with the fire's heat on his face. He looked over next to him and saw Cyril, or rather his lap, and the hand that was clenched next to it.

"Brother?" He asked sleepily, looking up. He pulled his arm from the cloak to rub at his eye, cherub cheeks rosy and full. It was the first time in a long time he looked his age, only a child who had been hurt by the outside world, instead of the now family head, the protector, the parent. He reached his free arm out to tug at the top of Cyril's sleeve, wanting his brother closer in his warm and cuddly state, and to know why Cyril looked so distressed and angry.

Cyril turned his head at his brother's voice, and his expression softened. The sight of his twin all wrapped up, looking so warm and comfortable, the sleep having not yet left his eyes, made him smile. Cyril unbuttoned his boots and pulled them off, letting them fall to the floor. He drew his legs up onto the couch and crawled over to where his brother lay. He pulled the soft cloak up slightly, and slid beneath it to join him in the warmth. He rested his head upon Ciel's shoulder and was careful to not put any pressure on his chest.

Cyril breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the familiar room and the burning firewood in the hearth, and closed his eyes. He was glad to be home, warm and safe with his brother, but his mind was troubled. He did not enjoy thinking about unpleasant things, but the injustice that had been dealt them had been so severe. He was still processing everything that had happened in just a few weeks, and there were still so many things that he didn't understand...things that he wanted to understand.

"Ciel," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Why do you think those people attacked us?"

Ciel had wrapped an arm around his brother, careful of his back, and held him close when Cyril slid underneath the cloak covering him. His breathing stuttered a bit at Cyril's question. Did he mean the people in the cult, or the people who had killed their parents? He sighed once.

"I don't think we know about everything that daddy did..." he began, voice still quiet and hoarse from sleep. "A lot of people didn't like him. And they wanted to make sure we didn't grow up to do the same things he did..."

Cyril nodded against Ciel's shoulder, opening his eyes slightly. He was a little sleepy, but his empty stomach kept him awake, anticipating the meal that was to come.

"I wonder what will happen when the culprits find out we're alive...though, if they attack again, they'll have to deal with Sebastian. You should have seen what he did to the cultists..." The memory made Cyril smile, grateful that he and his brother had such power and protection at their will.

Ciel squeezed Cyril's upper arm in a sort of agreement or comfort. He nodded to himself, not smiling. He hadn't seen what Sebastian had done with his full power, he didn't know if he wanted to, and it made his stomach churn to know that whatever it was the demon did made his brother smile at the memory. He looked down to see it. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen his brother give, other than the watery and tearful smiles he had given upon finding both he and Tanaka alive on separate occasions.

While they laid in each other's arms, the door was opened and in strode their butler, two blankets draped over one arm, the other pushing in a cart with the evening meal. It was more mashed foods, potatoes and carrots. Milk, but this time with very little honey as the boys could consume more calories now, and some very finely shredded chicken, just a bit to see how the boys did with it.

Ciel sat up first, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with the heels of his hands. As soon as he did sit up, legs dangling over the couch and barely touching the floor, a blanket was draped around his shoulders and a warm plate set in his lap. He looked up curiously at the demon, clad in his butler's uniform, his disguise, and was only given a small smile with closed eyes in return. He looked back down at his plate in contemplation.

Why? Why was a demon acting so genuine and caring? Of course he could be faking. Ciel was sure his main goal was to kill them, feast on them, or some other awful outcome. Cyril had been so impressed by his murdering of the cultists, but Ciel saw it as Sebastian getting rid of the competition. He had even marked them as his property, a demon's mark on both of them.

Cyril slowly raised himself back into a sitting position, muscles aching slightly as Sebastian wrapped the second blanket around his shoulders. He then placed the other food tray and plate onto his lap. Cyril was relieved that he and his brother would not need to go to the dining room to eat, finding himself quite comfortable on the couch. He looked down at his plate and was glad that this meal, too, was mashed foods, as he was still a bit nauseous at just the thought of consuming solid food. He picked up his spoon and supped contentedly, taking his time. He eyed the shredded chicken and then took a hesitant bite, waiting for any sign of nausea. None came, so Cyril continued with more confidence. The warm milk helped to wash everything down and by the end of the meal, Cyril felt warm and satisfied, a feeling, he knew, he would never take for granted for as long as he lived.

Ciel watched as Cyril ate. It did his conscience and psyche good to see his brother not going hungry like they had in that terrible month. He picked up the spoon and began to eat as well, first eating all of the potatoes and mashed carrots, so in case he couldn't handle the chicken at least he had an adequate amount of food in him. He drank a bit of milk before trying the chicken and allowed himself the smallest of smiles, almost a grin, as he found it palatable and began to eat some.

He stopped before he got too full, not wanting to overstuff himself and lose all the yummy food he'd just been allowed. He did have to admit, Sebastian made delicious food, even if it was very simple and somewhat bland just so they could stomach it. Perhaps it was just the fact he hadn't eaten real food in a long time. He nodded when Sebastian made to take away his just about empty plate, and his brother's. He set the plates back on the cart and whisked them away to clean them. Ciel sat back against the couch, enjoying the warmth and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, until he felt a familiar ache in his tummy. He placed a hand there and gasped in a small realization. The ring...

The blue family ring, the one father gave him, was still inside him and needed to come out. He'd been asleep so long, and then there had been the hospital, he hadn't thought about it since then. He couldn't walk to the nearest lavatory himself, he had to wait for Sebastian to come back, not wanting to shout for him and not knowing that the smallest whisper would call the demon to him.

Cyril had been relaxing for a moment, savoring the feeling that only a full stomach could bring, when he heard his brother gasp. Thinking Ciel was in pain, he turned sharply toward him, wondering if there was anything he could do to help.

"Are you alright?" he asked his twin.

Ciel looked up at him with big eyes, worried and solemn. "The ring..." he said simply, trailing off a bit, hoping his brother would understand and somehow help him. He didn't want to have to ask, especially on something so simple and trivial, like walking, he should've been able to do himself. Once he was there he could handle it, but he couldn't even stand without causing himself tremendous pain.

Cyril frowned, contemplating. "I see..." he said. Then, expression lifting a little, he slid off of the couch, standing on the ornate area rug in his sock-clad feet.

"Well, we managed it well enough when we were...in the other place, so let's take care of it one last time. Just put your arm around my shoulders," said Cyril, extending his hand to his brother. One of the many bathrooms at Phantomhive Manor was situated just off of the sitting room, so they didn't need to walk far.

"And now you'll actually be able to wear it," he added with a little smile. He wasn't sure if Ciel wanted to be reminded that he was now the family head, but he still attempted to make light of the dark situation, anything to lessen the burden. The ring no longer needed to be hidden, and that was a small triumph in itself.

Ciel reached out hesitantly. He didn't want Cyril to have to be in pain to help him, but it was fitting they were to help each other.  With an arm around his brother's shoulders and most of his weight on his good leg, the two twin boys made their way to the bathroom just off the lounge. Once situated inside, Ciel closed the door and had Cyril wait outside for him to be done.

It was humiliating in its own way, performing the act of searching his own waste for something so precious. But it had done an adequate job of keeping the last piece of their family history safe. Washing it a bit under some running water, Ciel looked at the blue stone, holding back the tears that came with the memory of his father giving it to him. He held up his right hand, four fingers freshly bandaged, and slipped the ring onto his left thumb before cradling his hands to his chest, holding it as close to his heart as he could; holding his parents as close as he could.

He made his way back to the door by hopping and opened it, resting on the frame while waiting for Cyril. His twin looked up when the bathroom door opened.

"You got it?" asked Cyril. Then he looked at his brother's left hand and saw it; the old blue ring that had been through so much. It shone brilliantly in the dim light despite its rough journey. "It's been through a lot, hasn't it? But it survived...just like us."

Ciel nodded at the symbolism, but found himself mute for the time being. He just didn't know what to say. He allowed Cyril to help him back to the couch and climbed up, experiencing a sharp pain only momentarily and wincing at it. He kept the blanket close around him again and sat up straight. 

Cyril looked back up into his twin's eyes from where he stood in front of him. He could tell they had held tears. Any governess would've been proud to see how Ciel sat now. Keeping his legs dangling over the edge of the couch, and his back straight so he wasn't slouching or causing pain to the gash in his sternum, he looked quite regal. Cyril noticed this as well. It was as though putting the ring on had made his brother proudly assume his role as the family head. There was a bittersweetness about it. Then he suddenly remembered that Ciel had not yet seen their parents' graves; he had been unconscious at the time. It was too dark now, but perhaps they could go outside tomorrow and visit them together in the family cemetery.

Cyril was glad that Ciel was such a willing and responsible heir, but he also didn't want him to take on more than he could handle. They both had a long way to go; from recovery to reclaiming their household, and then to be seen as equals among the peerage. And the Watchdog position? Cyril was unsure what Her Majesty Queen Victoria would decide regarding the role, a position that seemed cursed... Would Ciel even want it if she offered?

Cyril pushed away the concerning thoughts. Such things could wait until tomorrow. For now, they needed rest. Cyril climbed back up onto the couch to join his brother. The boys lifted their legs up and laid down side by side. A couch would not have normally been the most comfortable place for the twins to lay their heads, but compared to the cold, hard stone they had grown accustomed to the past month, the soft fabric of the furniture in front of the crackling fire was nothing short of heavenly, even despite the thinner space that made their bodies press closer together. It only encouraged them to be closer.

The boys lay with their foreheads pressed together, noses touching. Cyril's right hand found Ciel's left and he fiddled with the blue ring on his thumb absentmindedly as their eyes slowly closed, each lulled by the crackle of the hearth and the soft breathing of the other. For the first time in weeks, the children felt at peace. They were still wounded, still scarred in every way, still terrified of what the future held, but in this moment, they had found peace in each other's presence and safety. They were no longer victims, but survivors, and they would manage whatever this cruel world threw at them together. Holding each other close, the boys drifted into a rare, comfortable sleep.

* * *

It was a few moments after the twins fell asleep that their butler came back to collect them for bed. He was only half expecting them to be asleep after their hot meal filled their empty tummies and he considered what his next move should be.

Separating the two and taking them upstairs one by one wouldn't do. He noticed the way they clung to each other in their sleep. It was especially prominent during nightmares, which were impossible to predict. One could begin at any moment, making separation relatively impossible. Their injuries caused another barrier for the demon butler. He couldn't carry Cyril while touching his back, and Ciel's chest wound and leg made him also difficult to carry. He pondered for a moment longer.

He reached down to slowly untangle the two boys with the gentlest of touches. They only sighed for a moment, nearly in unison, before settling back into each other. Sebastian lifted Ciel first and set him facing inward on his arm so his eldest charge was leaning against his shoulder. He paused as he felt a tiny hand clutch his sleeve, his cheek pressing firmly against his shoulder. It reminded him briefly that he was caring for children now, something he had never done in all his life as a demon. He glanced at the blue-grey hair pressed against him and sighed once. What had he gotten himself into? He picked up the second twin and did the same with Cyril, carrying him on his hip so the boy was tucked against him but his back wasn't brushing anything, and he whisked them off to bed.

* * *

The next morning the twins were woken by light pouring into their bedroom. They were dressed in night clothes and smelled fresh tea. Ciel rubbed at his eyes, scratching the bridge of his nose slightly with the ring he forgot he wore. He sniffed and looked at it before sitting up on the pillows propped behind on, his side of the bed closest to Sebastian. 

"Good morning, young masters." The demon said with a smile as he tied the heavy blue curtain aside. "It is ten o'clock in the morning, Wednesday, January the twentieth. The morning tea is a honeyed Seylon with cream."

Ciel creased his eyebrows at the normalcy and formality of their morning wake up as Cyril moaned in his sleep at the bright light pouring through his closed eyelids. He pulled the soft covers over his head, wanting to drift back into sleep's lovely embrace. But then he caught the scent of the tea and breathed deeply. His stomach growled. The younger groaned underneath the protection of the duvet, wanting to sleep longer but also wanting to eat. He peeked a single blue eye out from under the covers and saw that his brother was sitting up (as well as he could what with his injuries), so he slowly raised himself up, resting his back gently on the headboard. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, finding the one with the contract seal still wrapped in bandages.

When Cyril fully sat up and opened his eyes, Ciel had already been handed a tea cup and saucer, the older boy staring into it as though inspecting its very colour or consistency, before raising the cup to his mouth to sip at the tea. It was sweet and creamy, not the best, but acceptable for the butler's first attempt at their morning drink. He sighed and continued to drink it, slowly, not particularly caring at the moment to tell Sebastian about his need to improve.

Said demon picked up a cup and went to the other side of the bed, preferring not to lean over Ciel and annoy the newly woken boy, who already felt distaste for him. He handed Cyril the cup and saucer before reaching up with a pair of small scissors and quickly snipped one of the bandaged around his head off. Putting down the instrument, he reached up and began to undo the coverings.

"It seems time we let your eye breathe a bit, my lord, and test your sight." He let the final bit of bandage drop.

Cyril slowly let his right eye flicker open. The bright light made him squint at first, but then his eye soon adjusted and Cyril looked up and around the room.

He was seeing double slightly, his right eye having been covered for two days. The sight made him dizzy and he shut his eyes, holding the side of his head with one hand. He was relieved that he could still see somewhat out of the marked eye, though he knew he would have to wear an eyepatch in public from now on. Hoping the dizziness faded soon, Cyril vaguely wondered what the contract seal looked like on his eye. Ciel looked over at his brother and tried not to react harshly as he had done the first time. Cyril's entire eye was purple, with a darker purple pentagram in the middle, covered in strange markings. He reached forward, holding the teacup in his lap.

"It looks...just like mine." As though this fact was surprising, now that he had seen his own mark and his twin's. Ciel didn't realize the indented mark left on his back could be replicated so exactly over his brother's eye. He touched Cyril's cheek, just underneath the changed eye. "Can you see?"

Cyril nodded. "Sebastian said that the more visible the seal's location, the more power it wou-...that I would have." He looked down at the cup of tea in his hands, and then raised it to his lips and took a sip. It needed a bit more sugar to suit his taste, but was acceptable. He drank it more to have something to do with his hands than a want for tea. He wasn't sure how Ciel would react to his desire for so much power, even if it was to conquer their enemies. Cyril felt a need to justify himself, to explain, but he didn't know what to say. The moment his brother was stabbed before his eyes was the most excruciating experience of his young life. It was a kind of pain he wished to never suffer again. This contract with this demon spared his brother's life. It meant freedom, a chance at retribution, and that Cyril could continue on with Ciel alongside him, even if their souls would never see Heaven. Cyril bit his lip, not meeting his sibling's eyes.

"I see," is all Ciel answered with. He didn't know how to feel about it, except thinking hopefully this would turn out alright. He hoped the power didn't go to his brother's head and change him, or that the demon was simply lying and getting them comfortable before striking.

He shifted a bit in his upright position and hid the wince that came with the movement, keeping his right leg straight. The muscle, and what felt like the very bone, were so sore. He shouldn't have been so careless...getting up out of his wheelchair, for whatever the reason, had only caused him now more pain and possibly more damage. He sipped at the tea a bit longer before attempting to lean over and set it back on the cart near the bed. The sharp jab that came to his middle was a bit harder to hide and the tea cup and saucer fell from his hand, only to be caught by a gloved one moments before it hit the floor. Sebastian dared not speak to the boy, even to ask if he was in pain. He only looked at him, thinking Ciel would speak up. 

"I mustn't be so clumsy in the future," he muttered to himself, hoping that would satisfy the demon and his twin.

Sebastian straightened. "I've taken the liberty of planning a small schedule for the day, to begin accustoming you to what day to day life might be after your recovery. It's best to stay on a schedule regardless; it helps the mind and allots plenty of time for additional activities, which for the most part will be rest and healing." Sebastian cleared away the cups and set them on the cart. "Breakfast will be served in the dining hall today at ten thirty, and afterwards I think it's time to trim the hair that's gotten quite long on you both. Then perhaps we could discuss what is to be done about your studies; I'm sure you were in some sort of schooling before- and you'll need to know many important things if you wish to be the head and heir of this estate. Perhaps a governess of some sorts...?"

"No," Cyril interrupted. "I don't want to hire anyone else for the manor right now. We just need you..."

Cyril was intensely wary of strangers at this point, and didn't want to deal with any more, especially while they were vulnerable and still recovering. However, wanting to be respectful of his brother's opinion, he added, "Unless...Ciel wants to add anyone."

Ciel felt like Cyril was already becoming attached to the demon, and not in a good way. He felt they needed no one else but Sebastian? He looked over to Cyril, trying to avoid the purple mark but finding it difficult. "I'm bringing Tanaka back, regardless of what happened. If you don't want any other teachers, I suppose we can..." he paused, looking to Sebastian. "If you have the sufficient knowledge, you could be our tutor. But only for my brother's comfort and safety."

If it made Cyril happy and feel safe, he would allow it. There wasn't much he could do about their situation with the demon. He was also glad Sebastian had spoken up after he'd dropped the cup. It drew attention away from his momentary weakness.

Cyril nodded, relieved. This was one of many decisions the boys would have to make. Cyril turned back to Sebastian.

"So...what subjects are you knowledgeable about?" He wasn't sure what all demons knew about human affairs. He wondered for a moment just how old Sebastian was, and what he had experienced...

"I haven't lived this long to know nothing," Sebastian chuckled. "I've spent much of my life time on earth observing humans. I believe I am adept in the written and spoken English language, as well as French, Latin, and several other languages. I've lived through most of history, so I could teach you quite a bit about that, ergo and including geography, and politics. Any other subject you need to learn I can educate myself on it within the day and begin your study of it hence."

Ciel listened with intrigue while Cyril listened in awe. Ciel thougt, maybe this demon _could_  be useful to them. Cyril almost couldn't believe his ears. Here was a being who could teach them almost anything. Had he really lived through history's most defining moments? Had he been there? If Sebastian spoke the truth, their contracted demon would essentially serve as a walking, talking library.

"Well..." Cyril began, trying to take in all of this amazing new information. "We already know a great deal of French, and some Latin, so I suppose we could continue those, and anything else we might need."

"Perfect," Sebastian said, standing on Cyril's side of the bed once he had cleared away the teacups and set everything on the tea cart. "There will be other subjects as well suited for a young earl and lord to learn. Such as hunting and riding. They are practiced quite commonly amongst nobility in this part of the world and have been for over one hundred years. Though we'll hold off on that until you are both healed. For now, if you will permit me to prepare you for the day, I shall have breakfast ready downstairs."

Cyril's heart leapt. He had always wanted to learn to ride a horse. It meant being outside and Cyril always embraced an opportunity to go outdoors, especially now that he knew what it felt to be denied of that privilege. Spending the past month in a windowless underground chamber had only increased his cabin fever, so the boy was eager to start as soon as possible. Such activities would take his mind off of the less pleasant thoughts and memories that now plagued he and his twin.

The demon butler proceeded to dress the two boys, carefully minding their injuries, starting with Ciel and then moving on to Cyril.

Ciel had finally allowed Sebastian to dress him, wincing at some of the movements, but noticing how gentle the butler's hands were. His brother watched carefully beside them. Ciel hadn't felt a soft touch in over a month besides his brother's and the maid who had prepared him for Selwin, as well as briefly Tanaka's and his aunt. He didn't look behind him or even try to think about the new mark that was on his back,  but it was there for Cyril to see, as well as the dark purple and yellow bruises that surrounded the gash in his midriff. He winced as he had to bend once to get out of bed.

He wanted to stand, his muscles stiff, so he stood on one leg leaning against the wooden poster and waited until Cyril was dressed. He allowed himself to be carried, wrapping his arms around Sebastian's neck. He realized how calm it felt here, despite the power of the beast whose clutches he sat in. It felt more like an embrace than a restrictive hold. He had felt the same after the hospital yesterday, when he had been asleep and had not been plagued by nightmares. Sebastian had carried him in from the carriage and put him to bed. He sighed once. What was he to do...

Cyril watched as the pain and discomfort Ciel felt at being touched relaxed away in the demon's arms. Small comfort though it was, Cyril was glad that his twin seemed to be trusting Sebastian a bit more...well, trust was probably too generous a term, but at least his brother no longer looked upon their butler with an expression of complete disdain. He sighed as his stomach growled.  It would be another trying day for the Phantomhive boys, with much to discuss and decide. For the present moment, Cyril looked forward to breakfast, which would be served properly in the dining room this time. Progress was progress, the child supposed.

Once there, Ciel sat at the head of the table, and fidgeted a bit in his seat. The sight made Cyril feel an inexplicable mixture of great pride, deep sadness, and a touch of envy.  The boy never thought he would see his twin sit at the head of the table so soon.  That was something that was supposed to happen when the boys were much older; and yet, here they were, just over a month past their tenth birthday, eating breakfast without their parents. This was a big responsibility, the last person who sat in this chair had been their father the day he had turned over the family ring to Ciel. The older looked down on the thing that rested on his thumb, its brilliant blue reflecting the same color from his eyes back up at him. His brother sat to his right, both their legs dangling over their chairs and not touching the floor. He wondered all the things they'd discuss today and if anything would feel normal ever again.

Breakfast was served, another selection of softened fruits, less mashed than before, like Sebastian was slowly introducing them to more solid foods. There was a piece of toast on their plates as well, with no butter in case the taste was too rich for the boys. There was more tea, and milk if they wanted it. Breakfast was eaten in almost complete silence, making the clanking of their spoons in their bowls seem even louder. The manor was hauntingly quiet without the usual hustle and bustle of the many servants who used to live and work here. Their home now seemed empty and too large for them. Everything felt too large for them now, right down to the chairs they sat in and the silver in their hands…everywhere they looked, every aspect of their new routine, was a constant reminder of how small and alone they now were.

Cyril tucked into the softened fruit and then eyed the toast hesitantly.  He broke the slice of bread in half and nibbled at the soft part of one half. Feeling more confident, he ate the rest of the bread without any problems. He washed it down with some milk and his mood lightened. But Ciel ate slowly, hesitant at the food and worried it would upset his stomach. But he was hungry, and so he ate. He ended up eating everything on his plate, and once both lords were finished, their demon cleared the plates. As he bent at the waist to gather the silver though, one side of his head perked up, like he was listening for something.

"My lords, I think you are expecting visitors. And they should be here soon." 


	22. Audacity

"What?" Ciel asked hotly, looking up.

"There are two carriages approaching the manor. They are still over a mile away, but are on the road now to us." The butler answered.

Cyril straightened up, suddenly alert. He wondered who could be coming to call so suddenly. Family? Scotland Yard? The manor _was_  rebuilt overnight after all. Perhaps the tenants on the estate had gotten suspicious...  Cyril's mind raced for a moment and the boy took a deep breath, assuring himself that it was probably just family coming to see how they were doing.

"A mile?" he asked the butler nervously. "Er- do we have anything prepared for them? And - " his eyes widened, "I need something to cover my eye!"  He reached his hand up to his eye instinctively.

"The carriage is travelling leisurely, we have plenty of time. You two are dressed, and I'll fetch the bandages for your eye, master." Sebastian said as he began clearing the plates and the silver onto a cart and whisking them away before leaving to locate the bandages.

Cyril relaxed.  He was glad that he and Ciel had been able to at least eat before greeting company.  Cyril had a fairly good idea of who was visiting and he grew slightly anxious.  They would no doubt ask questions; about the reconstruction of the manor, at the very least. Hopefully they would overlook it and just be glad that he and his brother had returned alive. Nonetheless, Cyril tried to think of a convincing story while waiting for Sebastian to return.

Ciel was too anxious to speak. He too knew who would be coming, and he would not know how to greet her or her family.

Elizabeth...they were supposed to be each other's when they were older. But how could he now when he had been spoilt and touched by others? How could he when the fear of her tight arms wrapping around him like a vice already reminded him of Selwin and the bedroom. Aunt Frances would be so disappointed in him if she knew how weak he had been. That strong woman who had tried so desperately to teach him to fight and be strong, like Lizzy was. Like Edward was. And the eldest Midford child. How would he react? Would he curse Ciel for returning, or be happy he was alive? Ciel wondered while he watched Sebastian return with bandages and began to wrap Cyril's as it had been wrapped the previous night.

Cyril was at a loss for coming up with the words to explain the manor's restoration. His head hurt with all of the questions that were bound to come their way, so he shook his head and heaved a sigh. They would have to take the same approach that they had used at the hospital; to answer anything to the best of their ability in the moment without revealing any details about their time in captivity, and to say nothing about the contract and Sebastian's true origins. Nice and simple...

Cyril laughed mentally. Of course, nothing was simple now, but the thought made the boy crack a small grin. He forced himself to think about seeing Lizzie and the other Midfords again. It would be nice to see them, in spite of the circumstances. What would they think? Had they assumed they were dead? Had they grieved? Cyril hoped that the Midfords would be pleased to see them alive, despite their slightly broken state, and wouldn't worry about them too much. They would have to act strong and noble, fully capable of carrying on the Phantomhive name, and managing their household.

Sebastian led the boys to the main hall and they waited only a few moments before the carriages approached. Sebastian did not go out to greet them, as the new arrivals did not know they were expecting them. So he waited until a bell sounded, and he went to open the doors.

Standing there was Madam Red, waiting politely until Sebastian gestured for her to come inside with a bow. She took a few steps forward, then looked taken by surprise as though the boy's existence was still so miraculous to her. The boys held still, standing side by side. Madam Red knelt before them and touched each of their arms with her hands, holding them gently. She looked teary, and like she didn't know what to say, so she reached down in her clutch and pulled out a gold signet ring before offering it to Ciel.

"Here," she said, sniffling once. "It was your father's. They recovered it and...it's yours now." She stood up with a small sigh. "Your father's sister is on her way with her family. They are...a bit shaken, but happy at the prospect of seeing you."

"Thank you, Aunt Ann," said Cyril, looking up at her and then down at the gold ring in his twin's palm. They had both rings now, the last things that remained of their father. As he gazed at the metal, Cyril thought that there must have been so much that their parents had wanted to tell them, but didn't get the chance to. There was so much that they didn't know...

Aunt Frances was coming; a stern, strict woman who knew the ways of the sword. She passed on her teachings to her daughter, Elizabeth, Ciel's betrothed, and her son Edward. The boys had always found Aunt Frances to be a little scary, especially Ciel. She was committed to excellence and discipline, a proper noble woman. She and her husband Alexis were knights of the crown.

As someone who so rarely showed emotion, Cyril wondered what Aunt Frances had been doing in the month they had been missing. Grieving the loss of her brother and sister-in-law, no doubt, but perhaps also beginning to prepare her eldest son, Edward, to inherit the Phantomhive estate in the absence of an heir. Being only 13 years old, Edward would have had to wait for a while, but perhaps Frances had already begun the preparations? Cyril didn't know, but he hoped that their aunt would see he and his twin as capable and competent lords. He was determined to prove himself. His hand found Ciel's free one, and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Ciel held his twin's hand tightly, also staring down at the ring. He felt like crying again, but wouldn't. He was standing on his bad leg, most of his weight on his good one, but the pain still stabbing at him. He ignored it, he hid it. He closed his hand around the gold ring. He couldn't speak for fear of the tears he was trying so hard to hide slipping out, so he simply nodded his reply to Angelina, who got up after hugging them and made her way back outside without another word. Her visit had been so short...

The second carriage arrived soon after. Sebastian bowed low as he greeted the Midfords inside. All four of them, Frances, Alexis, Elizabeth, and Edward, had come to see the boys and the newly rebuilt manor. They were all dressed in black, as was custom.

Lady Frances, the Marquess of Midford, stepped over the threshold, giving the butler a suspicious glance before continuing. She turned her attention to the twin boys standing at the base of the grand staircase. She hid her amazement quite well. The sight was haunting...two small identical twin boys standing hand-in-hand, completely alone in the midst of such grandeur.

"Ciel!" cried a curly-haired blonde girl of eleven. She made to run past her mother.

"Elizabeth!" Frances said sternly, putting out an arm to prevent her daughter from going any further.

It seemed cruel, but Frances found the entire situation highly suspect. Everything about it was remarkable, miraculous even...and Lady Frances did not believe in miracles... She could hardly believe that they were even standing in Phantomhive Manor, after seeing it burned to ashes with her own eyes. The boys themselves might not even be real...she had to make sure before allowing her distraught daughter any hope that could be false. It had broken her heart to witness Elizabeth mourn her departed cousins and fiancé, a grief too great for someone so young.

Frances stepped forward as the others entered behind her. Cyril tightened his grip on Ciel's hand as their aunt approached, his heart pounding. Ciel's legs shook beneath him. Frances gazed down at them, her gloved hands folded in front of her. She looked both boys directly in the eye. She could tell right away that these were the genuine children of her late brother. She was an astute observer. They were clean and well put-together, but she could see from the look in their eyes that they had suffered greatly. There were a few cuts and bruises still visible, and she could not miss Cyril's bandaged eye, nor the way Ciel was putting most of his weight on his left leg. Her nephews were no longer children. They were alive, but there was no light in their eyes, none of the joy and childlike innocence she had seen in them on their birthday. They were simply...there.

She internally cursed her brother and the Underworld that had been in his charge, something she had done a few times during the course of the previous month. Christmas and the New Year had held no joy for her and her family. Her mother Claudia had died young as well, also fulfilling her duties as the Queen's Watchdog, and now the cursed position had taken her brother, leaving his children orphaned and fractured...

There were no words she could think of that were appropriate for the situation, so Frances, who believed actions spoke better than words anyway, bent down and wrapped her arms around both twins, drawing them slightly closer together. Her head was bowed between theirs, eyes closed. After a few moments, she finally spoke.

"We are most grateful for your safe return."

Ciel could hardly contain his joy at seeing his family members after so long, but the joy was masked by pain and trauma. He knew he was supposed to be happy, so what was stopping him? He realized it would take a long time now, if not forever, for him to be truly happy again. He put his full weight on his aunt, barely able to keep himself upright. His left arm went around her as they embraced. Her words were solemn, something that was comforting to him, nostalgic. At least this hadn't changed, it was still something from their past that remained. Some kind of normalcy.

He kept his other hand tight around Cyril's, his face hidden in his aunt's neck, which never smelled of perfume, just her and her clothes. A few moments later, the embrace ended, and Frances stood upright. Ciel was forced to put his weight back on his good leg again, holding back the tears he refused to show. It was a very solemn meeting.

Meanwhile, behind them, the other Midfords stood as though waiting their turn patiently to greet their returned family members. Alexis, the Marquis of Midford, a strong burly man, had a hand on his daughter's shoulder to continue holding her in place and also comfort her, tears in his own eyes. Enough barely fell to meet his lapel; he had already cried so many tears for the Phantomhives. For his brother- and sister-in-law, and their two children who had been so young. Too young to suffer the fate they had received. But now, the thought of what they must've gone through and what they still had to endure hung a new sorrow over Alexis, one that sunk his shoulders low at the thought of these two boys now having to deal with life without their parents, and the title to be given to the eldest.

Edward, beside his sister, holding her hand and ever gallant, held in his own tears. He had always hated Ciel, in some shape or form, and he had enough guilt about it before his aunt and uncle were killed. After they all died, he felt even worse about the hatred he always held for Ciel, assuming he had been dead. He had been glad, and felt guilt for that as well, when the news came of their deaths. He thought only of Elizabeth at first, happy she would be saved from the same fate Aunt Rachel had suffered: death at the hands of the Watchdog, what his sister might've suffered had she grown up to be Ciel's wife.

And now more guilt washed over him. He was glad they were alive, as he still felt a family type of love toward his cousins, but now once more had to deal with the idea that his sister could be killed because of his elder cousin. He felt that guilt, also weighing on him as other emotions weighed on his father, whom he was so like no matter how much he tried to deny it. A few tears finally escaped him, and he sniffed them back. Perhaps he'd try to be better to Ciel, and not take what he had previous taken for granted.

Ciel looked past Aunt Frances toward the rest of the family and saw Lizzy. He wasn't scared, as he suspected he would've been, but he longed to embrace her. His cousin, his childhood best friend whom he always played with when brother was sick. He could not think of Cyril this way, their bond ran deeper than he and Lizzy's, but this girl whom was to be his wife he had missed most of all out of all their family. The way she always tried to make sure he was happy, even if she was a little much at times, the way she always made him laugh when they were little.

"Elizabeth..." He said quietly, looking at her. He felt Lizzy was...too young of a name for her now. She had grieved, and looked so much older in black than in her frilly pink and blue dresses. He, too, had gotten older. He was head of the household now, and had spent most of his last month being a parental figure and protecting his younger brother. Lizzy now felt informal. And Lizzy didn't look like a Lizzy anymore. She looked like an Elizabeth. And that is what he again called her. "Elizabeth?"

Frances turned back towards her family as Ciel spoke and beckoned Elizabeth over. She took a few steps back as Elizabeth ran forward. As she came closer with tears streaming down her face, she looked over at her mother briefly, who mouthed ' _gently'_  to her, and then back at the boys.

She could tell which one was Ciel, she always could. She walked slowly up to him, her bright green eyes looking deep into his sorrowful blue ones. Then, giving a tearful smile, she raised her arms and brought them gently around her fiance, almost afraid that he might break at her touch. She let out a sob as she felt his warmth, relieved that he was real and solid, and not a ghost or a dream. She had been tormented by nightmares for weeks, nightmares of her Ciel, always out of reach, or disappearing before she could get to him. The past month had taken its toll on her as well and she was thankful that it was finally over.

Ciel gasped as her arms wrapped around him, still half expecting some sort of trigger or flashback to arise, reminding him of all the times arms had held him in place over the last month. Their kidnapping, their branding, Cyril's whipping, the stabbing, Selwin...

Her head rested on his shoulder gently, her blonde hairs tickling his cheek. He let his head fall into her hair and brought his arms up around her too, slowly and hesitantly, actually letting go of Cyril's hand for a moment to do so. Once he became comfortable and familiar with the hug, he tightened his grip on her with a whimper, not wanting to let go of her. It felt like the arms around him belonged to such a different Elizabeth than before. Her hugs had been full of love and kindness before, excitement and giggles. This hug was desperate, clingy, every emotion she could not voice on how much she had missed him displayed on her sleeve, which was currently pressed against his own. And however much Ciel wanted to, he still did not cry.

Though Alexis cried enough tears _for_ him, blubbering behind the two a ways away, so happy that his nephews were alive and his daughter would once again know the happiness she felt when in Ciel's presence. Edward only watched in discontent and resentment.

After pouring all of her unspoken emotion into her embrace, she slowly straightened up. Giving Ciel a tearful smile, she turned to the younger Phantomhive, who tried to return her smile.

"Cyril..." said Elizabeth, and she embraced the younger boy. Cyril winced slightly as her hands wrapped around his back, but he did his best to keep his body relaxed as he returned the hug. He wasn't quite sure why he was trying to hide his pain. He supposed he didn't want the family to worry about him any more than they already were, but he also did not want to be seen as weak. He already had a more fragile constitution than his older twin, and he didn't want to give anyone a reason to value him any less. The past month had been a brutal lesson on just how easily worthless he could be...

However, Cyril's pain did not go unnoticed by Aunt Frances, who was watching the exchange carefully.

"We're home...Elizabeth," said Cyril as they parted. Elizabeth stared at the boy's bandaged eye in concern, and she brought a hand up and stroked the side of his head gently.

"Your poor eye...will it heal?"

Cyril looked down, and sighed deeply. Meeting her eyes again, he shook his head.

Elizabeth looked devastated and gave Cyril another swift hug.

"I'm so sorry...thank goodness you're both alive."

Wiping her tears on her black glove, she turned around at her father and brother and stepped to the side next to her mother.

Alexis glanced briefly at his wife before looking back to the boys. He stepped forward, trying to keep himself standing tall, before kneeling in front of his twin nephews. Now staring eye to eye with them, he could see how clearly hurt they were, and the mental damage that lay within their eyes hidden just under the strong facade they presented, was heartbreaking. As more tears welled in his emerald eyes, he reached up and cupped the side of each twin's face.

"You both look so like your father..." he said, for lack of knowledge on what else to say. They did, as well. They reminded him so much of his late brother-in-law. They had gotten on quite well, he and Vincent. They had shared many political and business talks over dinner, shared in their duties and love for their families and the queen. They had played so many games of billiards, and even chess, though Vincent always won.

Then there was Rachel. So fragile, just as her youngest son had always been. He and Frances had always seen her as a little sister, as she was younger than the both of them. They also shared in their common relations to the family. Both of them had married in, and at some times, felt different from the Phantomhives, or felt tied to their positions. They both held a certain tenderness in their hearts, love for their spouses and children. He realized, only too late after she had passed, that he and Rachel shared more in common than he thought.

The tall man was mostly equal in height to the boys while on one knee, and he gently pulled their heads into his neck and kissed each of them on the hair before letting them go. He turned back to his son and beckoned him forward.

"Edward...come and see your cousins."

The eldest Midford child, with arms crossed and a look on his face that was a mix between sorrow and impatience, stepped forward. He didn't get too close, but he did lower his arms, in what seemed to be resignation or respect, and spoke simple words. "I'm glad you're not dead..."

Elizabeth sighed in mild frustration. She knew that her brother did not much like Ciel, but surely he could do better than this...

Cyril, not knowing how to respond to Edward's stiff words and awkward demeanor, simply nodded.

Elizabeth was burning with questions, but after seeing her cousins in person, she felt that it would be heartless to ask for any details. Lady Frances too desired to know what her nephews knew of her brother's death, where they had been while they were gone, and what they had experienced, but her heart made her respect their privacy, at least for now. They were badly wounded and clearly exhausted. Right through their clothing she could tell that they were skin and bones, barely strong enough to stay standing. At the same time, however, she admired them for their fortitude and grace under such circumstances. The grueling questions she had for the boys could wait till another day, when they would be more recovered. But there were still things they needed to know...

"Perhaps we can all sit down and have a cup of tea," Frances suggested, glancing at Sebastian. Then, she took in more of the tall butler, her expression sharp. "I don't believe we have met," she said, lifting up her hand in front of her. "I am the Marquess of Midford. From what Angelina informed us, you are our nephews' new butler, is that correct?"

"That is correct, miss." Sebastian confirmed with a slight bow, eyes closed and small grin in place.

"We hired him soon after we got back," Ciel elaborated, breathing a bit shallow. He needed to sit down, the pain in his leg almost unbearable. He feared he would crumple to the floor if he stayed standing a moment longer. He decided to change the subject. "Tea sounds like a good idea. Sebastian, we'll have tea in the parlor."

"Of course, young master." The demon bowed once more before politely directing the Midfords to the parlor just to the left of the main entrance hall, despite the fact they of course knew where it was already. The Midfords were soon inside, leaving the boys and their demon alone in the entrance hall.

Ciel glanced at Cyril, trying to convey with his eyes what words could not say. They were in pain, both of them, yet happy to see their family, yet anxious all at once. The elder once again took his little brother's hand and gave it a small squeeze. He felt the presence of the demon kneel beside him and turned his head to face Sebastian.

"If you'll allow me, my lord." He glanced at Ciel's leg and back up.  "You should not be walking, or even standing while your leg heals if you wish it to set properly. I will take you to the parlor; you can sit down there."

"Do not presume to tell me what you will do with me, demon." Ciel said coldly, looking Sebastian in the eyes. "You are permitted to do so by me, your master. And you shall never do anything of the sort without receiving my express permission first."

Sebastian, already on one knee, bowed his head. "Yes, my lord. May I..?"

Ciel simply nodded, and felt himself be scooped into the somehow now familiar arms of their butler, an arm wrapping around Sebastian's neck as the other was separated from Cyril's. The trio made their way to the parlor where Ciel was placed in an arm chair across from the sofa where the Midfords sat, all but Edward who stood at a window, looking outside at the grounds that stretched for miles.

Cyril took a seat in a second armchair that sat to the right of the sofa, facing inwards. A low tea table sat in the middle so that everyone could reach it. Lady Frances addressed the boys while Sebastian prepared the tea off to the side.

"Much has happened while you've been gone," she began, still a little shaken from the emotional exchange, but her tone more business-like. "The Phantomhive estate and title were returned to the crown in the absence of an heir. However, I'll be sure to write to Her Majesty on your behalf to inform her of your return. From there, it is up to her, and Vincent's will does not contradict anything. Everything is to go to you, Ciel, as expected. Her Majesty may give the land and title to you right away, or she may wait until you are older. We shall see what she decides. She will probably write to you directly. In the meantime, your Aunt Angelina has told me that you both are welcome to stay with her where you can be taken care of."

Ciel had shuddered at the mention of his father's name, but listened intently to the information given to him. He would be receiving a letter from the Queen. He would receive full ownership and inheritance of the estate and possibly the title. Would it be both titles?  And Aunt Angelina wanted them to live with her...

"No," he said firmly from his place in the chair holding himself tall. "If I am to inherit the estate, I wish to stay on it. We will soon have all we need to take care of ourselves here. We can hire more servants, if need be, and we have Sebastian..."

He wanted to sound responsible. He wanted to stay here with Cyril. He didn't want to be anywhere else but here, but home. Sebastian finished brewing the tea and brought the cart closer to the table the nobles communed around, and began to pour tea for everyone. As the conversation continued he politely asked in a low, non-intruding voice how each person he offered a cup to took their tea, and made it just so.

The ladies were served first, first Frances and then Elizabeth. Ciel was then handed his cup, being the true master of the house, and Cyril after him. Alexis took his tea black and nodded a thank you to the servant, and Edward held up a hand and waved Sebastian away when he was offered tea. He continued looking out the window with his head in his hand. He had no interest in hearing about the twins' future right now.

"It's noble of you boys to say so, and it is your decision in the end, but do think of yourselves. The estate will be fine should you take a leave of absence." Alexis counseled.

Ciel decided he needed to play the right cards in this situation. No, he needed to move the right pieces. His next move should elect them sympathy.

"We haven't been home in almost a month...I wish to stay home now."

"So do I," agreed Cyril. "My place is here, with my brother."

Cyril glanced over at his twin and gave a quick small smile. He too wished to stay in the home they believed for a month that they had lost. He also wanted to be with his brother, and assist him in any way he could. He did not want him to have to face all of this alone.

"That is admirable of you both," said Frances, "but there is so much that you need to know when it comes to running a household, being a member of the peerage, being a proper landlord...At the very least, you should have a governess come and assist you."

"We are aware," said Cyril with a respectful nod to his aunt. "And we believe that with Sebastian's ample knowledge of many subjects, we shall make do for now...if we find that we need additional help, we will seek it."

Frances looked round at Sebastian, who smiled. She did not like the look of him...there was something about his face that she found distasteful, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Is that so?" she asked, eyeing the butler suspiciously. "He must be quite a formidable butler then, to be able to assist you in such a variety of facets..."

"He's been in service most of his life," Ciel elaborated vaguely. "And he's had more education than most servants. He will be sufficient enough during the time of our recuperation. We will look into hiring additional staff and help once it is truly needed and required."

Ciel surprised his family and himself. Alexis wondered just how much had happened to his eldest nephew. He sounded so much older, so responsible and dignified. So much like his father.

Frances's thoughts echoed her husband's. She narrowed her eyes slightly, becoming more suspicious by the moment. Her nephews had mysteriously disappeared following the murders of her brother and sister-in-law, only to return with a strange black-clad butler who supposedly possessed all the knowledge her nephews needed to reclaim their household. Where had they been? What had happened to them? The boys who sat before the noblewoman now starkly contrasted the innocent children whose tenth birthday she had celebrated just a month prior. How had they changed so much? And who was this butler who had appeared seemingly out of the blue? Why did they trust him so much? Why did the twins even feel the need to hire a new butler when one would think they would have their hands full trying to get home safely from wherever they had been? It was all so remarkable and suspicious. Frances also did not like the sound of her nephews staying alone in their manor with a strange man they had just met as their only company and care.

And yet, somehow the boys felt more than comfortable with the man clad all in black. The Marquess could not help but think that he had manipulated them for some unknown purpose, or that someone else was toying with them from a distance. Being the only surviving descendants of the Phantomhive line, her nephews were extremely vulnerable and it was unwise to take any chances. She would have to do some digging on her own... But what could she do?

 _If only Tanaka were well enough to come back to work._ He's _at least trustworthy._

The twins were quite resistant to staying with family, though she could understand why they desired to stay home. She was concerned about their mental state and whether they would even be useful to anyone. But their words puzzled her...they were not the words of children...they were the words of an Earl and Lord. She was dumbfounded that they had grown so fast. A wry grin crossed her face. She knew it was crazy, but she decided to trust them. She would not, however, trust the man who now stood by their side. He would have to prove himself to her. She leaned forward, looking both boys directly in the eyes, her voice slow and serious.

"I do hope you know what you are doing."

"In all honesty, Aunt Frances, we don't. But learning is all part of being responsible." Ciel said, shifting a bit in his chair, holding the now empty tea cup in his lap. "We already have several plans in motion for the future of the estate and our predecessor's company. We plan to keep production for a steady supply of products and release a new line as soon as possible. We are going to continue rebuilding the estate, its not in fully working order. Everything shall be brought back to how it was, both estate and business. And...Elizabeth..."

He slowed and glanced at his cousin. "If you'll have me, I'd like to continue the plan for our engagement. It's what I owe to you, and the title of course."

"Oh, Ciel..." cried Elizabeth, her hand coming up to her chest and her eyes brimming with tears. It was clear that she wanted nothing more than exactly what Ciel proposed. Meanwhile, Edward turned from the window, mouth falling open in disgust.

"Of course I'll have you! I've missed you so much," said Elizabeth, who wanted to jump over the table that separated them and embrace her fiancé, whom she was only too happy to have back. She had mourned him for what had felt like years, and now she could look forward to the future again. Her light had returned...

Cyril glanced at Ciel as his brother made the tall statements, wondering what he was thinking. They had, of course, made no such plans. Cyril himself was not quite sure if they had plans beyond their haircut today.  But clearly Ciel was trying to reassure their aunt that they had matters under control and that they had thought their next steps through, and so he simply nodded in agreement, making a mental note to discuss it with his twin later.

Frances raised her eyebrows in surprise. She could tell that her nephew might be exaggerating a bit, though she admired his audacity all the same. It would serve him well when he became Earl.

"Well, it appears you have thought this through at least..." She glanced back at Sebastian and then back at the boys. "I can't say I agree wholeheartedly with this arrangement, but I do trust your judgement, Ciel, and appreciate your honesty. I will write to Her Majesty, and give her word of your safe return. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to write or visit....You will need all the help you can get..."

"Of course, dear aunt." Ciel said, a bit heavy on the sweetness in his tone. He set his tea cup down on the table, having to lean forward to do so. It was a mistake on the small boy's part, since he had forgotten momentarily about the wound in his sternum. Bending at the waist caused an ache in his core that shot through him so suddenly he barely had enough time to successfully hide the pain he almost let pass his lips, but his hand did fly to clutch at the front of his clothes after setting down the cup.

"I'm glad we could discuss things," he said, hoping to hide any extra suspicions his aunt had now. "We do have a bit of a schedule lined up for today. Do let us know if you plan to visit again in the future. You are more than welcome at the estate. Sebastian, clear the tea away." He waved vaguely at the table, where five empty and one unused tea cups sat.

"Of course, master." Said Sebastian quite obediently, and began to clear away the cups and saucers and setting them back on the cart before pushing the cart toward the door where it would be taken back to the kitchen and tidied once the guests were seen out. He now had to balance the order in which he did things, being the only servant and wanting to maintain efficiency and yet politeness. He would clear the place, see the guests out, then clean the used dishes from tea. It seemed as though the guests would be leaving soon, from the tone of the lady head of the family and his audacious young master.

The Midfords rose from their seats, as did Cyril. Ciel could not stand due to his injured leg and pain in his chest. Elizabeth came around the table and hugged her fiancé in the armchair, with more enthusiasm this time. She did not mind that Ciel had changed so much; he was alive, and still hers. She desired to know what had happened to him all those long weeks, but she did not wish to ruin the mood.

She went over to Cyril and embraced him once more before following her parents and brother out of the lounge. Edward was the first one out of the room, and did not look back. Frances sighed and made a mental note to have a good long talk with her eldest on the carriage ride home. Sebastian bid the Midfords farewell and saw them out the front double doors of the manor. But as Frances approached the door that Sebastian was holding open for them, she stopped and looked the tall man up and down once more.

"And what shall I call you, Mr. Butler?"

Sebastian stopped and wondered, not expecting to be asked. He bent politely and kissed her hand. "My name is Sebastian Michaelis, my lady."


	23. Empty Graves

As soon as the Midfords were out of the lounge, Cyril sat back down in his armchair, exhausted. No longer concerned with looking proper and presentable, he slumped a bit in the chair and suddenly became aware of every pain that remained in his body. His heart had been pounding the entire time, his body almost shaking with anxiety under the scrutinizing gaze of their Aunt Frances. He then turned to his twin.  
"Are you alright?" Ciel's moment of pain as he had set down the teacup had not gone unnoticed by Cyril. He wondered if his brother had exerted himself too much by standing earlier...

Ciel nodded, whether it was to Cyril in answer or to himself, he didn't know. He wanted to stay sitting and just breathe, slumped back in the armchair like he was right now. His leg was throbbing and his core stung and ached. His breathing, which was heavier than before, was now noticeable in the silence of the room. Ciel sounded like he'd just run a very far distance, and was now trying to catch his breath.  
Sebastian had left the room to clean up the tea cart. It was getting to be the afternoon now, since he'd let the boys sleep late. He returned to the parlor.

"Shall we begin this busy schedule you so enthusiastically described to your aunt? You know, though you told me never to lie, you are quite the liar yourself, my lord." Sebastian chuckled.

"Watch your tongue," Ciel said shortly. He did not have enough energy or patience at the moment to tell Sebastian off properly. He sat for a moment longer. "Let's cut our hair...it's gotten much too long."

 

* * *

 

The twin boys sat in two wooden chairs in the sun room, a spacious sitting room with large windows that allowed a lot of natural light to pour in. They each wore a large apron over their clothing while the sound of sharp shears cutting through blue locks punctuated the otherwise silent room.

Sebastian stood behind them with the scissors, cutting the hair on both of their heads. He would go back and forth between the two, attempting to match the style on each precisely. Their hair looked exactly the same except for one distinct difference: their hair parted in opposite directions, making Ciel's fringe fall towards his left eye, and Cyril's fall over his right eye. This would be convenient for the younger boy once he would begin to wear an eyepatch.

Ciel kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the sharp objects moving in an out of his peripheral, the swift movements and unknown knowledge of where they'd be coming from next reminding him too much of the dagger. It frustrated him how easily his heart would race and his stomach would churn. He hoped it wouldn't be this way forever. He kept his breathing even, listening to the steady sound of Cyril's equally even breathing beside him. At one point during their haircut, Ciel had reached out next to him to hold his twin's hand as Sebastian pinned and combed and cut and styled.

He was glad some kind of normalcy would return to their lives. The cuts and bruises would soon be healed, their clothes and hair would be back to normal. The scars they had could be easily hidden from sight, but they would always know they were there. Cyril had closed his eyes as well, simply listening to the sound of the scissors cutting their way through his hair. He was happy that someone else who wasn't his brother was making the decisions at this moment, and he trusted Sebastian enough to not mess up their hair. The simple activity was actually relaxing and quite cathartic in a way. The boys had the opportunity to slow down and calm their minds for a little while. They had been given a new life, a second chance at living, albeit very different from what they had...

When Cyril felt Ciel's hand come into his own, he squeezed it in return. They had so many blessings, and yet so much to mourn. They had lost the ones who had given them life, and were now picking up the pieces of their shattered innocence...

Sebastian finished after a while of gently cutting in silence. Ciel breathed a small sigh of relief and tried not to flinch away from the gloved hands that removed the apron from his shoulders and shook it out into the floor to be swept later.

"What do you want to do today, Cyril?" He asked gently, unsure really of what to say or do next. They couldn't exactly begin all the plans he had described to Aunt Frances today, they already had the manor in perfect working order, and there was nothing to shop for or to get, nothing strenuous they could do with their injuries. He longed for the days when if they didn't know what to do they would run off to the toy room and play with the numerous amounts of toys they possessed in their previous life. Had that really only been a month ago? Surely it had been years. They had played hide and seek and chess and ran around in the snow just last month. All of those activities seemed pointless and childish now. How had they found joy in such simple things?

 

Cyril pondered his brother's question. His mind was blank. There was so much to do and yet none of it could really be taken on just yet. They would also need to wait on the Queen's response before making the more major decisions about the household and the titles they were to posses. And then it came to him, clear as day, something that had always taken their minds off of any worries, wasn't too strenuous, and still exercised their brains. Cyril turned toward Ciel and gave a small smile.

"Chess."

Ciel looked up at his brother from where he sat on the chair, a small sad smile also in place. "Chess...okay." He nodded. "Sebastian, there's a chess set in...in our old toy room. Bring it here, we'll sit at the table there, by the window. Sun would do us good."

Ciel didn't want to leave the room. It's tall, bright windows showed off the freedom they had recently re-acquired, the sunshine through the glass and it's small available space made it a bit warmer than the rest of the house. He wanted to remain here, and play chess with his brother, where they could pretend everything was back to normal.

Sebastian bowed without a word and left the two boys alone. He knew the room Ciel spoke of, he'd been to it twice now while acquainting himself with the house. The chess set shouldn't be too hard to find. He made his way upstairs and back in a matter of minutes with the wooden box. When he returned, Cyril had already helped Ciel to the table. It wasn't too far away, and the older had wanted to stretch at least one of his legs. The butler stood politely by the side of the table and opened the lid of the box to reveal the dark wooden set.

The boys stared at the old but well-kept rosewood chess set. The pieces that were meant to be the white ones were a lighter brown than the black side which had been painted darker, each curve of the various pieces familiar. The set was slightly smaller than the one their predecessor had taught them to play on; a set of their very own for the toy room. It brought back so many memories...

They had always played chess with each other, sometimes with father, and sometimes with Aunt Angelina. They had always taken turns between who played black and who played white. Eventually, the boys became so proficient with the ancient game that the only one who could match either of them in skill was each other. Many of their games would end in a draw, oftentimes their kings the only pieces left on the board.

The twin boys each carefully laid out their respective pieces. Cyril played white this time and moved a pawn forward to begin the game. Their demonic companion was in for quite a show...

Ciel entered a certain mindstate he always entered while playing chess. A metaphorical sense of survival, only focused on the movement of pieces, barely moving himself, not speaking. He countered every move his brother made perfectly, only to have it countered back.

The demon watched in amusement and intrigue. These boys were beginning to prove themselves even more in his eyes. They were certainly more intelligent than a number of humans he'd encountered in his long life. Every move he thought would end the game was countered by the other, again and again, each check never reaching 'checkmate.'

Ciel moved his knight piece to capture one of Cyril's bishops, Cyril's rook captured Ciel's queen, and Ciel's rook moved in defense to save the king piece. And on and on it went, for nearly an hour, full of calculated thoughts and movements and silence. Sebastian wondered who would win, until finally, Ciel made one wrong move, rare on his part, but it was a wrong move that could not have been avoided in the situation; the only move he _could've_ made to further the game's progress. Cyril moved his knight forward, and before knocking over the black king piece said, "Checkmate."

Cyril smiled smugly as Ciel extended his hand out over the chessboard in congratulations.

“Good game,” said Cyril, shaking his brother’s hand. “Feels good to be back.”

Ciel nodded, indeed pleased that they could enjoy a simple game of chess again. It really was the simple things that meant so much to them…

“Listen…” Cyril began, suddenly nervous. He looked down and then back up at Ciel. “You were still asleep when we got back to the manor, so you didn’t see…I went into the family cemetery…and,” he paused, gauging his brother’s reaction. “They were there…and there were gravestones for us too.”

Ciel looked up. He hadn't been expecting another lump of information, but this was important stuff. He knew who Cyril was implying, and he also knew despite the fact there were gravestones, there were no bodies underneath them. He shuddered. There was a grave for him, and it was physical, it existed. It had almost been necessary. He straightened a bit and coughed to fill the tense and awkward silence. What was he supposed to say? There was no question to answer.

"Oh," is all he could manage. And he felt the need to go to them. He wanted to see...them...one last time. And afterwards he would never return. He would forget it, the past and everything surrounding it, and put it in the ground where it belonged. But the young Phantomhive didn't realize that the past was not the same as his parents bodies. While those no longer existed, just as he wished the past to no longer exist, once the past was buried it would still be there, hiding just beneath, waiting to resurface. "...I'd like to see."

Cyril gave the faintest of smiles, his eyes still solemn. He was glad his brother wanted to see the graves. He felt like he needed that closure, the same way he himself did. It would not take the pain away by any means, but Cyril hoped that it would help both of them to move forward…forward with their healing, their plans, their revenge…  
The boy stood up and turned to their demon.

“Sebastian, prepare us to go outside.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian carried Ciel in his arms up the small hill to the graveyard. They had no wheelchair, or any need for one, if they were simply to move about their own estate's grounds. Ciel's face was pressed into their butler's neck, shielding his face from the cold and from seeing the graves he knew would be there, but still had trouble believing in nonetheless. He needed this. He needed to solidify this, and get closure so he could move forward. His parents were dead. Though it was sad, it was true, and it was a fact he would have to repeat to himself until he could live with it.

He felt the gentle steps of the demon stop, and heard his soft voice mumble, "Young master, we're here..."

"Set me down, then." Ciel said in a small voice, as though this was something Sebastian should've already done.

"But, my lord, your-"

" _Set me down_." Ciel said again, a bit more firmly, and the butler obeyed. He slowly set the child on his feet, where he stood with his weight on his good leg, as he had done in front of Aunt Frances and the rest of the Midfords. The cold air made his bones ache, but he refused to use the demon for shelter. He needed to do this, proudly, like a Phantomhive. He didn't realize his eyes had been closed until he reopened them, and his sight settled upon the four tall crosses before him. His eyes met the one on the left first. 'Cyril Phantomhive.'

He shuddered and closed his eyes tightly again, not wanting to think of when Cyril had indeed almost died. He pushed the thought from his head, of how even if Cyril had died, he wouldn't have been in a nice grave like this. He would've been discarded or his parts resold.

Ciel opened his eyes again, to the right this time, and saw the grave on the other end was his own. He felt a small stab of anger. Who had placed these graves? And how dare they separate him from his brother, even in supposed death? He had expected his grave to be next to Cyril's. Well...no he hadn't. He didn't even suspect the graves to exist, but he would have if he had known. His name was so far from Cyril's now. But he would not get rid of them. These graves were proof that they had become survivors, and had lived through what should have been certain death.

Then his eyes met the two graves in the center. 'Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive.' His parents. Their bodies weren't there, they had been burned to ash in the fire, but these graves were different from he and his brother's because the people who were not buried beneath them were actually gone, and they weren't coming back. Ciel began to think of them. Sitting outside in father's lap for picnics, mother watching as he played with Lizzie outside. When she would sing or father would read to them. That would never happened again, any of it. His eyes welled with tears and he fell to his knees in the snow.

Cyril sank down into the snow next to his brother. He again experienced the surreal feeling that he was a ghost staring at his grave, only now he was with his twin. All of his attention was on his brother; he would be his support as he grieved. He was not alone. Cyril wrapped an arm around Ciel’s shoulders, while pulling his cloak closer around him against the cold. It would soon be nightfall...

Ciel clung to Cyril, huddled against his chest with his hands pressed to his own chest, clutching both the rings close to himself, as though cradling his parents. He cried, shivering from the cold and the sobs he produced. The tears instantly turned cold once they ran down his cheeks and froze once they hit the snow or left dark spots on his cloak. One hand finally came up and held his brother's, as tightly as he could, to make sure he was real and not also in one of those graves, or somewhere else very far away.

Sebastian didn't know why, but he stepped closer, until he stood just behind the twins and could read the graves. December fourteenth; so this was the day of his masters' birthdays. There would hardly be celebration on these days, he surmised. At least now he knew the date. He quickly took in the dates and names on the other graves, in case they were important to know later. He found it quite peculiar, even though it was a human custom, burying people. To look down at the stone and see the same date carved twice, ten years apart. It hardly seemed fair to the small human children to have a day such as their birthday ruined by death. He reached down, perhaps to be some sort of extra comfort, and touched Ciel's shoulder.

Instantaneous rage. Ciel's hand came up to push Sebastian's away furiously, all the grief he felt now being channeled directly at the demon in the form of blind anger. The little lord hardly tolerated showing weakness in front of anybody, and now this demon who held a claim over he and his brother had dared to interrupt his grieving, and disturb the state he had allowed himself to fall into. "Don't touch me!" He shouted. "How dare you even think to touch me at this moment!" He broke free of his brother's grasp and turned toward the black clad butler, still on his knees in the snow while the demon towered over him.

"You! When you're one of the reasons we're here in the first place!" Ciel else, standing firm on both legs, fueled by adrenaline.

Cyril reached up from his place in the snow to tug at Ciel's cloak. "Brother, please stop-" but the cloak was yanked out of his grasp by his older brother before he could tell Ciel not to hurt himself.

"You are not permitted to touch me or even look in my general direction any longer without my express permission! I do not belong to you, I don't care what you view me as! Whether it is some play thing or a meal or nothing more than dirt, you do not own me! I am through with being owned! This mark means nothing!" He touched his side, red in the face from shouting and now out of breath and dizzy. Images went back and forth between Sebastian's mark and the mark the cultists had given him, his mind swimming. Which one had he been speaking of? He was freezing, swaying where he couldn't keep himself balanced, standing on his injured leg.

Sebastian looked at the child and frowned. He knelt before his master in the snow and slowly pulled off his left glove to reveal his matching mark, the one Ciel had not yet seen. "This mark...means more than you think, my lord. But you are correct. If anything, it is you who owns me. This mark means I am at your command. My very being, down to the last hair on my head, is yours. If you think this seal means ownership, remember that I too have my own."

The demon watched the heir carefully. Ciel glanced down at the mark on Sebastian's hand, one of his small hands reaching forward to hover tiny fingers over it, as though he planned to touch it, but quickly denied himself even the thought. The boy had registered the words, but they melted away almost immediately. He couldn't keep a thought in his head. He was so cold and so dizzy. There was so much pain, in the fingers on his right hand where he clenched his fist against the bandages, in his leg from standing, in his core from yelling and moving too quickly. His eyes closed and he fell forward into Sebastian's chest, and the demon caught him in his arms.


	24. Wretched Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning: Flashbacks to previous chapters, violent and disturbing imagery, and extreme crude language.
> 
> Song Guide:  
> • Lay Your Head Down - Albert Nobbs (Rachel's Lullaby)  
> • Nightmare - Set It Off  
> • Whisper - Evanescence

Cyril stood up, and listened to his brother's angry shouts at the demon. He was slightly surprised by Ciel’s rage, but sympathetic to it. However, he was standing on both legs, exerting so much energy, and Cyril was afraid that he would make himself sick.

“Ciel! Brother, please…” But his pleas went ignored. Ciel was letting out all his frustration and grief at their demon. And suddenly...

“Ciel!” shouted Cyril, as his twin fell into the butler’s arms. He knelt back down and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it urgently.

“Oh no…no no no! Brother!” he shouted, panic rising in his chest, the bitter cold air stinging his lungs.

“Sebas…tian,” he panted, his breaths coming short and sharp. “Will...he be alright?!”

Sebastian looked up at his younger master. "I'm sure I can do something," he tried to assure him, remaining calm since both children had been in heightened states of emotion and physical distress. "But for now, we must get you both inside. Do you need me to carry you, young master, or can you make it to the manor?" He asked as he scooped Ciel up once again.

He ended up carrying Cyril back on his shoulder with Ciel cradled in his arms. He brought them back up to their bed chamber and set the unconscious child down. He thought to himself,  _'this is getting to be routine'_ , and began to take Ciel's winter clothes off and cover him in thick blankets. The child was cold, and breathing heavily.

It was now dark outside, the sun having dipped below that far away horizon, and Ciel Phantomhive dreamed a dream he could not wake from, unconsciousness pulling him deeper and holding him like a vice. The soft voice that met his ears was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. His mother's singing always calmed him, it had when he was an infant all the way to the night before their tenth birthday. It was no different in his dreams.

He felt disconnected from his own body, floating just outside the door to the room where he knew his mother's voice was coming from. Though he would've liked to travel further and see Rachel's face, he was content. He could've listened to her singing for hours. When he opened his eyes, his mouth dry, he made to turn toward Cyril, to tell him about the lovely dream he'd just had of mother, but screamed as the sight of his twin met his eyes.

Cyril was on his stomach, naked and laid out on top of the duvet, both eyes, one blue and one violet, wide and unblinking, lifeless, as blood spilled from the numerous deep whip marks that covered his back. Ciel's screams turned into heaving sobs and tears as what seemed like hours and yet seconds passed that he simply stared at his dead twin. He feared he'd make himself sick. This couldn't be real. No, he had to still be dreaming...but it looked so vivid and familiar. It was a sight he had seen before. He looked past his brother into the darkness of their bedroom and there, within the shadows, he saw the red glowing eyes of their demon, lurking just beyond eyesight. A dark chuckle met his ears, echoing around him, filling the room. It sounded like it came from every direction, from inside him, from right behind him. He made to scream again, but a hand covered his mouth to muffle the sound.

It couldn't have been Sebastian, he was still on the other side of the room. He could still see the glowing red orbs with cat-like slit pupils, the ones that became clearer the more he kept them in his sights. Ciel turned his head, and was suddenly face to face with Selwin.

_No_ , he couldn't be here, he was dead. All of them were, Cyril had told him so. The man was next to him, hunched over his spot on the bed with his left hand over Ciel's mouth. His right hand was suddenly pinning Ciel's wrists above his head, though Ciel didn't remember this happening, as though time was broken, skipping.

"Hello, little watchpup. It's been some time hasn't it? Oh, how I've missed you." Selwin hissed in his ear before biting the lobe hard. He licked up Ciel's cheek before biting there too. The boy tried to scream again, but his mouth was still covered, and he struggled.

"Oh no, no, no. That won't do you any good. Besides, think a little. What do you even have left to fight for? Look," Selwin forced his head toward his brother's corpse. Sebastian had gotten slightly closer, halfway between the wall of their chamber and the bed; the outline of his body, almost too tall and slender to be fully human, now clearer in the darkness. "He's dead. You couldn't protect him, and now he's dead because of  _you_. Why not just give in? You have no one left to be strong for, nothing left to fight for. Just let that wretched weakness inside of you out to play."

Selwin removed his hand, a wicked smile with crooked teeth painted on his face. Ciel's tears flowed freely now, his screams turning to sobs. The hand that had just been lifted from his mouth caressed down his chest, which was suddenly bare like the rest of his body. The hand stopped just over the stab wound he had been inflicted with. Ciel realized with a jolt of fear it was no longer stitched and bandaged, but open and bleeding. Two of Selwin's long fingers drummed against the wound before suddenly plunging into it and Ciel screamed again in pure agony. He could barely move, the pain was blinding, but his legs kicked and squirmed on top of the duvet.

"Pryor did well...look how deeply you're taking my fingers, Ciel." Selwin praised in a slow, hissing voice. "It reminds me of our first night together, how loud you screamed for me. I told you how much I'd want to hear you scream more."

Those cruel fingers crooked just as they had done that night inside of him, only this new location was far more painful than the last. His insides made foul squishing sounds and blood seeped out onto the sheets, dripping down his ribs which were crooked and bruised.

"Would you like me to take you again, Watchpup? Right here, in your parents’ bed, next to the body of your dead twin. You can look into his eyes and let it sink in that without him to protect, you can now fully belong to me." Ciel found himself unable to speak while Selwin did the talking, his sobs now racking his entire body and making the pain worse. His heart was pounding, aching at the sight of his twin dead. No, this couldn't be. It couldn't, he would die without Cyril, he wanted to die now. The pain; the pain was too much.

"You could never have protected him; you might as well have been the one to do it. You killed him, Ciel.  _You_  killed him." Selwin said.

"He would've been better off without you,” the new voice that spoke now was Sebastian, but his voice sounded deeper, and it rattled deep inside like a snake. Ciel turned his head to see that the demon was now right beside their bed, a grotesque, dark version of himself, shrouded in black smoke, yet somehow maintaining the body Ciel knew him in. He was stooped low, stroking Cyril's hair almost comfortingly, possessively. "If you had died on that altar, he would've been much happier. I could've saved him and brought him here without you. You mean nothing to me, or to him. You are a weight on his shoulders. If you had died, he could've come home without anything stopping him from possessing the title you have so 'valiantly' taken on. Wonderful, brave Ciel, inheriting the estate and the money and the wonderful fiancé along with everyone's love and attention. Everything he can never have now because of you. Because you had the  _audacity_  to live."

Sebastian continued, "I can protect him better than you ever could. You are  _nothing_."

The demon's hand moved down from Cyril's hair and through the blood on his back before lifting his fingers to his lips to lap at them like some demented feline. Ciel tried to struggle again, to look away, but found his limbs too heavy. Selwin's fingers were finally gone from inside him, and his hand was now making work of widening his legs, fingers covered in blood moving towards a place Ciel never wanted Selwin to be again.

Chanting began filling their bedchamber, familiar words that signaled a death was approaching, and an orange glow began to grow and crackle around them. The room was slowly being set ablaze, their manor once again beginning to burn, but Selwin and Sebastian made no attempt to stop their advances on the twins. A crow cawed somewhere out of Ciel's line of sight before swooping down and landing on Cyril's head, pecking at the eye that held the brilliantly glowing contract seal. Ciel felt a blinding rage and a growing sense of despair, his chest hurt as though the cultists were once again sitting on top of him. He screamed at the bird, who stopped its pecking only to move to Ciel and snatch the blue ring from his finger. It flew away and dropped the ring into the growing flames surrounding them, screams suddenly filling the chamber along with the whooshing of the spreading fire. But the screams Ciel finally woke to, were his own.


End file.
